


Rise From the Ashes

by ClockworkOpera



Category: The Dark Artifices Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Multi, Praetor House, Silent Brothers - Freeform, iron sisters, parabatai bonds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-21
Updated: 2017-10-06
Packaged: 2018-12-05 04:45:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 127,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11570598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClockworkOpera/pseuds/ClockworkOpera
Summary: With Livvy gone and the Clave's future uncertain, the Blackthorns struggle to survive the aftermath of the Accords Hall.





	1. Ave Atque Vale

Kieran was stashed on the attic floors of the castle named the Scholomance. Detritus of ancient furniture, rotting tapestries, molding books and dead mice were mixed with old crates and boxes. Paraphernalia of centuries old weapons, broken and ill repair scattered throughout the room. Too much iron. Their proximity made his skin hurt and he pitched them off the balcony the first day. Nobody had come to complain.

He liked being on the upper floors—there were windows and the harsh cold of mountain air was refreshing in this closed space. Diego was right that there were not many Centurions here, but that did not mean that they didn’t need to be careful and keep a low profile.

Diego had brought him stacks of books to search through in hopes he’d find information on the Black Volume, and to occupy his time. He was ordered not to leave the space, but he used the balcony often. It was cold here, the altitude of the mountains leaving a lacy frost on the morning ground, white air on his breath. Another day, here and he’d go mad.

It gave him too much time to think and worry.

There was death at the Clave meeting.

When Diego came to tell Alec of the Inquisitor, his father, Kieran knew the man was dead. It wasn’t just the stench of blood: there was always a tang in his senses that went with the dark fingerprint of death. It happened when the aura of life, magic in of itself, faded out of existence from this world.

Men who died passed into the Shadowlands: sometimes in sorrow and grief, other times in shock or rage. He always wondered why Gwyn never invited Shadowhunter men to ride. Nephilim faced a life and death harsher than most. Mark was the first to join, and his calling was not to escape death or the injustices of it.

Kieran thought in his short time being exposed to the Shadowhunters he was becoming more familiar with their ways of speech. Faeries enjoyed embellishing the arts of words, dancing in wordplay was art form, but he was learning an appreciation for the short direct means of communication as well. That was until Diego received the fire message from Cristina:

_Livia Blackthorn is dead_.

***

It had been the horror of engulfing flames that wrenched Kit awake from the nightmare. Dressed in a plain white dress with a sash of white silk binding her eyes she looked virginal, like a wax mannequin—not real, when they set the pyre ablaze. He could still hear the hissing and popping of the fire. Sweat clung to him, his breathing too fast because he couldn’t get that memory unstuck from his head. His eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room as a complete sense of disturbing disorientation seized him. For just that split second between the night terror and consciousness, it didn’t seem real.

It still didn’t seem real that Livvy could be dead.

It was another thing to add to his list of why he hated Shadowhunters. The new word.

AVE ATQUE VALE.

Hail and farewell.

Annabel Blackthorn had gone batshit crazy at the Council meeting. Emma with Cortana had shattered the Mortal Sword trying to stop her—he got the feeling that was a big deal, but no one was talking about it. The Clave lost control to the Cohort and all of Julian’s well laid plans had fallen away from there. And somewhere in all that, after killing the Inquisitor, she’d gone after an unarmed Livvy who had just thrown her only weapon to Julian.

“ _Shadowhunters die. That’s what they do. That’s their fate_.” His father’s words full of cynicism and truth echoed through his head.

***

_He’d been left alone with Magnus in the back-meeting room after Kieran had left with Diego. He could hear the chaos of what sounded like battle and he was desperate to go out there and find out what was happening, but he couldn’t leave Magnus. All he’d been able to do was pick up that damn curtain finial and do his best impersonation of an Unseelie Prince._

_Then he’d heard the most blood curdling scream of his life. It turned his blood to ice and spoke to the most ancient part of the human brain, the primordial part that only understood the need to hide if one wanted to live—a tone to stop time itself. His dad would have called it a banshee scream and he didn’t know it then, but it had been Emma._

_The scream was enough to rouse Magnus from unconsciousness and the warlock’s eyes had widened in fear—he’d mumbled a few words in some language Kit didn’t understand that might have been a prayer, and fell away back to his half dead state. Kit had to check his pulse to make sure it wasn’t a full dead state._

_All the sounds of chaos had turned to a grim silence after that and all he could do was wait because he knew something awful had happened._

_Even with his worse imaginings he’d still been completely unprepared for the site of Julian soaked in blood carrying Livvy into the chamber, the hilt of a sword staked into her chest. Emma stood next to him and she too was bloodied and so pale for a moment Kit thought her a ghost and wondered if it she’d been the one killed. Sometimes he still did._

_His first inane thought was a throwback to the little bit of first aid training he had: one shouldn’t remove an object because a person might bleed out when they did. Once he got over the initial shock of seeing her like that he was glad it was still there because of course now it could be removed safely without killing her._

_Dru came in sobbing and leaning on a pretty Asian girl. But then Mark and a woman who looked a lot like him with one of the most terrifying expressions he’d ever seen in his life, carried Ty between them into the room and a cold dread spread from the base of his spine into the pit of his stomach._

_Ty was like that not because Livvy was hurt: Ty was like that because Livvy was_ dead _._

Kit’s eyes were dry and raw which was weird because before he nodded off he’d wiped away errant tears that blindsided him. He hadn’t even really cried when his dad died. Livvy not being here was completely different. He wanted to cry like a baby.

He liked focusing on Ty. When he thought of Ty he could viciously shy away from thinking about a pretty girl he’d share a kiss with. Loyal and honest and funny. She was real, and to even think of her in a past tense stung his eyes and closed his throat making the tears threaten again.

He heard the low humming. Maybe that was what rescued him from his own nightmare. Ty had started the humming after he’d smashed his headphones in a fit. He was curled in a fetal position, rocking in bed again his dark curls wild and covering half his face. He existed in his own universe now, so far away it seemed impossible to reach. The first day it had been hard to know if he was even awake or asleep, but now the rocking was a dead giveaway.

He didn’t know if the physical pressure of wrapping himself as tight as he could in a wrestler’s hold helped at all, but he mounted the bed and tried. Ty didn’t pull back or flinch away from his touch so Kit took that as a good sign.

Julian would want to know he was awake, but he wasn’t about to leave now to go get him. “I’m here, Ty,” he whispered in his ear not knowing if Ty heard him. That was the most frustrating part, knowing Ty’s world was so far away from the rest of theirs. 

He didn’t really know what else he could say that would help, so he just stayed quiet matched his rocking and let Ty’s humming soothe him too.

***

_Kit wanted to ask someone what happened, but everything seemed to move in a dizzying rush from there. The chamber room filled with bodies and the Consul whispered fierce instructions to the Silent Brother who’d tried to help Magnus earlier. They’d all been ushered out to follow Brother Enoch into a private basement door turned into an unending labyrinth that seemed to traverse into the bowels of the very earth itself._

_Two more parchment white figures came to flank Emma and he was reminded of prison guards. All he’d been told by his father was that the Silent City was the worst prison in existence. He believed those words: but it was also a city for their dead. The City of Bones._

_They were a stream of refugees hanging onto each other to get through a maze of underground corridors. Dru wasn’t forgotten, she just wasn’t a priority so he’d stayed with her. He’d put his arm around her through her silent stream of tears. It was the only thing he could do, give her contact so she knew she wasn’t alone._

_It was another adventure stop on his map he never wanted to be._

_The pieces of the Mortal Sword had been removed from Livvy’s chest. They’d been wrapped in the same kind of white cloth that bound Livvy’s eyes. He didn’t know why the blindfold was even there, but she’d been washed and put in a white dress, her hair brushed, her feet bare, with pale pink painted toenails. Her arms were folded over her chest with a seraph blade over her heart. Another blade for her heart._

_She looked like a statue._

_None of them really had even absorbed the shock before they were burning her._ That _felt wrong. Livvy dead was wrong enough, but this haste and urgency—there was no wake, no time for reflection—only a few minutes where one by one the family was allowed a few minutes for whatever they needed to say before they formed a ring around her and each spoke the words of the salute:  “Ave Atque Vale”. Ty was standing, but his eyes wouldn’t leave the floor. He was catatonic and there had been a whispered debate of whether they should wait for him to wake or at least be more coherent, but Julian in his decisive way shook his head firmly, no. They didn’t wait for Tavvy to be brought to them either. He was only seven and probably didn’t even know his older sister was dead yet. Diana had gone to find him, so she wasn’t with the family either. There was to be a memorial later, that would have to be enough._

_And Kit thought Julian been right to do it then because if he was waking with nightmares he knew Ty and Tavvy would never recover from witnessing that._

_Near the end though, Ty roused a bit from his catatonia. At least Kit really hoped he hadn’t seen it all, but Julian was with him and he’d turned to his older brother defiant. “I don’t want her here. She wouldn’t like it.” Ty had said to Julian._

_Shadowhunter tradition held that her ashes were to be kept in the Silent City for those monsteresque Silent Brothers to do with only God knew what. He wanted to ask, but wondered if there would ever be a time he could without conjuring the image of Livvy’s burning into his mind. She hadn’t melted like a wax mannequin at all._

_But, Ty’s request was something Julian could fix. He didn’t know what was spoken, or mind spoken in whatever creepy Vulcan telepathic mind meld going on, but with Emma, the fiercest sight of an avenging angel at his side with her golden sword, the Silent Brother in charge deferred to Julian’s request. He was glad the Silent Brother gave in or Emma would have cut him in half and he thought the Blackthorns were in enough trouble as it was._

_And if all of that wasn’t bad enough three scary ass women had come—Iron Sisters he’d been told. One turned to him and stared overly long at him, like she was looking through to his soul. “You will need a protection ritual soon,” she said and walked away, but he’d seen a flame glowing behind her eyes. It reminded him of a demon and whatever ritual she was talking about he’d take a pass: he’d be fine if he never saw one of those women again. The Silent Brothers were worse in their own way—the Parchment Monsters. He didn’t understand why any of the other Shadowhunters didn’t see plucked out eyes, mutilated and stitched creatures as something that had gone totally wrong in the world. Weren’t angels and beings closer to the divine supposed to be beautiful? Was it an indoctrination of youth that they didn’t see it, because these people just weren’t right._

_They’d spent the night there, buried underground. By morning Alec had made arrangements to have them smuggled out of the City of Bones and picked up in heavily shielded werewolf vans till they’d been sequestered in some below ground facility within the Praetor House. He still wasn’t sure how they’d gotten from Idris to New York._

Kit believed he was a Shadowhunter now, but he wanted no part of their fucked-up society. Nephilim saw themselves above anything mundane, but he’d lived as a mundane almost all his life and he understood the value of history and the whole cliché of ‘past not repeating itself’. He thought of Hitler and how the Cohort were like the Nazi’s, but even if they didn’t understand mundane history he didn’t understand how they couldn’t have learned their lessons from the Mortal War—and that was just a few years ago. If they wanted him to kill demons, fine—but everything else? No way was he going to stay in the Clave if the Cohort got power.

***

The first thing Mark had done upon arriving at the Praetor House was to go to the roof. He had not come down.

Cristina was unsure if she should go to him or allow him some time alone with his grief. Night was closing in though, and there was a trickle of worry that should Gwyn cross the skies overhead, the Blackthorns might lose Mark to the lonely freedom of the Hunt. Mark called it unrestrained freedom, where the wind ripped the shouts and cries of every kind of emotion a heart could lay bare. It was a temptation. Riding back from Faerie was an exhilarating experience, and while Cristina would like to do it again, she’d never felt the same kind of abandonment Emma described or the freedom of pulsing stars in Mark’s broken eyes. He wanted to forget, and the Hunt could offer him that.

She was afraid for him.

The roof was large enough to support a flatter section, but she took a moment to give herself a sure-footedness and balance rune. She expected Mark to be wildly pacing a hurricane of pain, but what she saw was worse. He sat Indian style on the corner edge of a three-story drop; toes peeking out from barefoot feet, his hair spiked in wild blond tufted curls, his shoulders slumped with his head bowed. His body, like his eyes broken by grief. He hadn’t taken off his white funeral clothes. They were borrowed from the Silent City, but fit him well, a sad grieving ghost of a faerie prince. Even his hair looked white in moonlighted sympathy.

He looked like a defeated little boy, crushed by the world. She’d never seen him this desolate, not even during the worst of the emotional upheavals upon returning home. She remembered his panicked nightmares and hallucinations: How he dreamed faerie dreams of watching his family murdered before his eyes.

That had now happened and it was a dream he’d never wake up from.

Cristina witnessed it too, and poor Emma and Julian: they had been so near, but Annabel’s speed had been incredible. She was sure Livvy died instantly, even before any of them had a chance to realize she was in danger. Annabel’s attack—rage and madness turned in Livvy’s direction was so sudden and random, it made no sense.

Every few minutes Mark stared up at the stars and would mumble words under his breath. She couldn’t hear what he said, but thought he was maybe calling the stars by his siblings’ names.

How would that work now that one was gone from the world?

_Ultimate Thule_ , the clock had read. In ancient times, it meant a place beyond the furthest reaches of the known world. Heaven was that place now, and death the only abysmal ticket to buy passage there. The Wild Hunt could not even navigate by the stars to their Shadowlands, and death was their trade. Mark had lived for years harvesting tithes and tributes from those leaving this world—she couldn’t imagine what the sight of Livvy drenched in blood had done to him.

Livia was with the Angels now. Cristina absently touched her pendant, the long habit was supposed to be a comfort and reassurance. She felt little of that now even as she prayed: _Raziel, please watch over her_. _Please watch over all the Blackthorns. And Emma too._

They were far enough away from the city that they had an open sky unplagued by city lights. Dark shadows of rolling hills lingered on the horizon. Compared to Faerie the colors looked pale and washed out, even the light scent of new leaves and pine seemed dull. It was an ordinary night, and somehow worse for it. 

“Mark?” she kept her tone soothing. “Please come over here, off the ledge.”

“Where is Helen? She said she’d come.”

“She will. Tavvy was very upset. She didn’t want to leave Julian.”

“He is a little boy wrecked. When Julian left for Cornwall, he was so terribly upset, as if the world were ending. I do not know how he will bear this tragedy of our sister’s death.”

Tavvy or himself, she thought. “With his family’s love and strength. The same as you,” she said as she moved to the edge and offered her hand. _Please take it._

His gaze caught her, glowing and cold eyes meeting hers. “Do you believe she is a star?” he asked. “Can she see me from there?”

“Wherever her soul is she can see love Mark. I believe that.”

“And that she’s with your precious angels now? _The Angel has a plan?_ You say. What is it, then?” he asked suddenly agitated.

“I don’t know,” she whispered. Tears leaked down her face. She hadn’t known Livvy for very long, but she’d been warm and welcoming from the first day they’d met. Yes, Shadowhunters died all the time, but she believed there was a purpose to those who sacrificed their lives. This was different though, like when all those children perished in the Accords Hall. There seemed no point to it.

_That is where faith comes in Cristina_ , her mother would have said. _There is no true faith if it is never tested_.

“And Ty, how is he supposed to go on with her gone? And Julian? He says as long as you keep them alive—Livvy’s dead!” he shouted. “He’ll believe he is responsible, that this is his fault.” She knew this to be true too. He would. Julian had wanted her to go with Emma, but Emma insisted she stay behind and watch over the family. “I can’t be here Cristina, if I stay we could be putting everyone at risk, but I trust you. Promise me—they all need you. Promise me you’ll take care of Julian. Mark too,” she’d pleaded.

And Cristina had made a solemn oath.

Each of them was wrapped in their own guilt and misery: as brothers, they could hold each other up through this, and she knew Mark would do whatever he could for both Ty and Julian, and of course Dru and Tavvy. Then there was Helen.

He jerked upright and Cristina flinched in fear he was going to tip off the roof. He didn’t. His balance impeccable he began pacing, the beginnings of an emotional storm starting to rise. She preferred this Mark, to a broken one—even in his volatility.

He came to her. “When will I wake up Cristina? When will this be over?”

She could only shake her head and put a hand to his cheek, stroking softly. “I am so very sorry this is not a faerie enchantment. You know this,” she said as gently as she could.

He tore away from her.

“Why Livia?” He screamed to the sky.

He was practically vibrating. That scream was a crack in the dam of his pain. The flood was next. He ripped away from her as she tried to put a comforting hand and turned to the sky and screamed again, “Why Livvy? Why do you torture this family?”

He clenched and unclenched his fists, knuckles bone white. It was the kind of angry energy that was best used when gearing up for a large battle—but there was no battle here. At least not a physical one. A smaller quieter one for a piece of his soul, that was what she needed to worry the most about tonight.

The wind whipped away his screams of anguish, taking his message of horror and sorrow with it. Every now and then a werewolf head would peek out from down below, disembodied amber eyes reflecting off the moon. They were wary and alert: unsure of what to make of the Shadowhunter Faerie boy on top of their sanctuary.

She’d sent a brief fire message to Diego. She didn’t know if it would be safe for Kieran to come here, didn’t know what jeopardy he’d be placing himself in by coming here, but Cristina needed him here with her. Mark _needed_ him.

There was another roar from Mark that she hoped didn’t damage to his vocal chords. At least he hadn’t started trying to pull his hair out. In all her life, she’d never seen such an open display of grief. It was completely unsettlingly, tremendously real for its rawness. She was a bit envious of his freedom and unselfconsciousness to rage.

Yet all she could do is stand with him.

Mark wouldn’t always be that way, and she needed to remind him of it, so she pulled his whip thin body close to hers and held on tight as he sobbed in her arms like a baby.

When she couldn’t stand it anymore she took his face in her hands. “Please,” she whispered. She didn’t know what she was asking for or even offering when he kissed her in an explosion of want and need. She was unprepared for it the way one was unprepared for a tsunami crashing onto land and was helpless to stop being swept up in his desperate in raw hungry need.

She tasted salt and bitterness on his soft lips as they turned aggressive. He pulled her hard against him ravishing her mouth in desperation. His fingers dug into her hips, his grasp and body unyielding to hers. Pressed this close to him she could feel how hard he was, how much he wanted her. She could barely think of how much this was a bad idea, because she was just as desperate not let go of him either.

How quickly strong emotions turned from pain to passion, in a matter of seconds. Death did that. Made one want to reaffirm life. Her heart beat a wild tattoo, blood pumping in primal instinct to meet and match his thrusts and strokes of his tongue with hers. His hand wound through her hair, giving a sharp tug as he anchored her to him.

She could barely breath, her body humming in anticipation. His hand moved under her shirt, the edge of his thumbnail traced the ridges of her spine. Her entire body broke into goose bumps and she groaned as a flash of heat turned over low in her belly.

By the Angel, did she want him. “This won’t make the pain go away, Mark,” she told him on a gasp still half breathless from his kiss. She said it more for herself than for him.

She didn’t want to stop. It was good sense to turn him away than to do something impulsive they would regret later. Logic told her a dozen reason why she should not to do this, but his whirlwind of emotion carried her resolve on the wind. She wanted this too, and it was cruel to deny him—he’d know she was lying if she said this wasn’t what she wanted. She pulled away from him, trying to think.

“You would turn me away even now?” incomprehension crossing his face. His eyes were gleaming and feral and she couldn’t tell if she was excited by that look, or a little scared.

“No,” she whispered shaking her head, not breaking his stare. “I would not.”

A flicker of relief passed through him as he whirled her into his arms again. “Sometimes, the only truth I believe is what I can feel. Holding and tasting, you my dear Cristina, tempers my reality.” His body shuddered beneath her embrace.

Her lips were wet and swollen, when he plunged his mouth on hers, a drowning man’s last gasp of air. His thigh wedged between her legs and she felt long cold fingers under her shirt slide up to stroke her breasts. She was enveloped in his scent of fresh air and moonlight, all thoughts scattering.

He was strong, as he clutched her, steel cables for arms as he dragged her down to her knees, his mouth suckling kisses down her neck to her breast. She felt his cold hand reach for the band of her pants. He fumbled for a few moments trying to free the clasp only to be jarred back to reality when the light from an open door fell on them. Helen stood above them.

Her tired eyes found a moment to look amused. “I am sorry for the interruption, but I could bear the screams no more.”


	2. Church, Werewolves and a Faerie Princess

Emma didn’t know who the Clave had assigned as temporary Head of the L.A. Institute, but she wasn’t taking any chances it was Zara Dearborn. Everything about her life was _wrong_ , almost like she was living in an alternate reality watching at a distance as these horribly bizarre events were happening to someone else.

So, instead of going through the front doors (like normal Emma would), she scaled the outside walls, calloused fingertips on rough stone, hand over hand pulling herself up, until she reached the roof. Salt air and clouded sky. There was a moon and stars behind the blanket of clouds, but she liked the hanging storm clouds. They matched her mood. From there she snuck into the Blackthorn wing. She felt like a thief in her own home.

It was a shock not to be able to portal, but Alec, with good reason, wasn’t willing to risk Magnus. It was strange how it had been Alec who had taken charge, and not Julian. Emma got the feeling Alec knew something she didn’t. She didn’t know if it was about the Clave, or if Magnus has said something to him about their parabatai predicament. Maybe she was just feeling paranoid, the aftermath of the emotions finally settling into her. 

With Maia’s help (it had been scary how organized she and Alec had been), Emma had a New York driver’s license and a plane ticket to L.A. within only a few hours. “You’d be surprised how many wolves and vampires we need to relocate. The Clave traces magic, not airline flights,” Maia had told her. _Air Travel?_ She’d never been on a plane before.

It was a good fake with the name Priscilla Prince—nobody would ever think of her as a Priscilla, and she didn’t understand why she needed it, when all she had to do was glamour herself and walk past security.

Then Maia had handed her a very mundane credit card with the same name. “It’s linked to the Praetor Lupus account so don’t go wild, but if you need to crash at a hotel, get an uber, new clothes—whatever. Emma felt herself still fuzzy in that lost space of shock where her head bobbed mechanically in agreement, only half hearing a lot of what Maia was saying. “Think like a mundane and it will give you more freedom of movement until you find Jem and Tessa.” She was also handed a card with an LA number to call on if she needed any backup from the wolves. She’d been given a burner phone.

She felt like a mundane spy.

Everything in the world was broken today.

And Magnus had given her a small bronze charm, in the palm of her hand. “If you don’t do anything major, this should obscure you from view, if the Clave does decide it wants to talk to you.” None of them knew what it meant to break the Mortal Sword, but there was a fear the Clave would be searching for answers and she’d be the first they’d want to question.

She liked that idea.

If the Clave was going to come after her that was the _one_ good thing about leaving Julian. She could lead them away from him—and from Helen and Mark. A few days ago, she would have been horrified at the idea of fighting another Shadowhunter. Now, she almost hoped Zara and Manu would be the ones to come after her.

But, Julian had made her promise to stay safe and so she would. He didn’t need to be worried about her. If she could only find Jem: there had to be a way for him to help her.

“Define major?” she’d asked.

“Breaking the Mortal Sword. No runes, either—if you can help it,” Magnus muttered.

She had a feeling everything was going to be coming back to that.

Normal Emma would have come back with a witty and sarcastic response, but hadn’t had it in her, her mind blanked. All her thoughts were about Livvy, and Julian. And, God, Ty. Dru and Tavvy—even Mark and Helen. With those heavy thoughts in her mind she could almost forget about how the Sword had shattered beneath Cortana, until the image of its hilt in Livvy’s chest hit her. That was on repeat.

The Silent City had been a winding claustrophobic maze. There had been three Iron Sisters that had singled her out, and confronted her. One had tried to reach for Cortana, but Emma quickly sheathed it before those long white spiderlike deformed hands could touch it. “No one will touch Cortana, but me,” she said in an icy tone that she didn’t recognize as her own.

“We know more of Cortana, than you do, Emma Carstairs. The wielder is the power behind the sword,” another one had said. “How have you grown in power?”

Speculation in cold eyes, even while the flames behind her eyes flares and burned. Snake eyes, inhuman. An ancient instinct rose telling Emma to cut them down before they lived long enough to do—what? They wanted something from her, maybe something more than just Cortana. But she understood she was in some kind of danger.

She’d never met an Iron Sister before. She respected them, for their discipline, their strength, the forgers of all the Shadowhunter weapons, but she was also smart enough to fear them.

“There is nothing special about me,” Emma stated very sure of this fact. “When the Mortal Sword shattered, it seeped what looked like black oil.” She _never_ , not once heard of a sword doing that before. She remembered how the sword seemed to be sucking away the life blood from Robert...from Livvy.

She shook herself back from the memory and faced off against these three terrifying women. “Why did it do that? What was wrong with the Mortal Sword? Was it something left over from Valentine? A flaw, a fracture from his dark magic?” she asked going on the offensive.

Unfathomable eyes with a blank expression stared through her, like an examination. She shivered, but didn’t turn away from the stare. It was Brother Enoch, who interrupted. Like smoke from a magician’s trick he simply appeared. _We are ready_ , she heard the whisper in her mind. She thought that was how Julian sometimes sounded in her mind, and quickly shut down every thought and feeling she had about Julian momentarily terrified they’d be able to read her mind.

Emma saw enough of him to know his eyes were no longer there, simply sunken pits of shadows and the stitches in the mouth looked painful and cruel. He’d once been human, but she didn’t the think the same thing was true now. Jem had once been like this—and her mind couldn’t reconcile the two versions of him being so very different.

Jem had stood with the Blackthorns when they’d been questioned under the Mortal Sword during the Dark War, as Brother Zachariah, but he’d been hooded then. She knew the story of how Heavenly Fire had cured him, but she still didn’t get it. How did it restore his eyes, regrow his hair, heal his lips from the scars—she’d always thought as Heavenly fire as something to burn away evil.

Then the realization hit. They were ready for Livvy’s funeral ceremony. She felt dizzy and sick. _Oh, God, Julian_.

As if Brother Enoch hadn’t spoken, as if they were oblivious to the concept of grief and loss, the taller Iron Sister, the one who tried to handle Cortana said, “We will speak of this again, Emma Cordelia Carstairs,” before disappearing down a blackened hallway.

Emma rubbed her eyes trying to rub away what happened after that. Thousands of miles away from the memory and it still haunted her. She’d made it to Livvy’s room clutching Oso to her chest. She’d picked up the stuffed bear for Tavvy, thinking on how much Ty’s stuffed bee had meant to him after the Dark War. That bee was long ago packed away, Julian would know where.

Livvy always kept her room neat and organized. There was a subtle scent of a light perfume, or maybe it was just the smell of Livvy herself. Emma never noticed it before, but it felt like a piece of her spirit still lingered in her room. Her soul had moved on—but there was just so much Livvy here.

She found herself picking up random things, opening drawers—just exploring Livvy’s life. She respected Livvy’s privacy and a part of her couldn’t believe how intrusive she felt herself now, or the fact that she didn’t care. There was a picture of her and Dru together on the beach, some costume jewelry she’d been collecting. Emma randomly rifled through drawers, finding some dresses and jeans. In her closet was her laundry basket of worn clothes still in need of a washing. In her desk were collected knick knacks, and pens. In the bottom drawer was her laptop and Emma felt herself suck in a deep breath.

Julian had given it to her last year when she and Ty began arguing over the family computer. She said she wanted more privacy and that she and Ty didn’t always like the same stuff. Julian had gotten the computer for Ty and since she was learning coding it was logical that she should have one too. Julian had been impressed with her argument and gotten her one.

The black top had stickers on the outside, band emblems for Gorrilaz and 21 Pilots and a bumbler sticker that read: _Hedgehogs—Why don’t they just share the Hedge?_ Emma’s heart twinged at the memory. Livvy had tried to explained to Ty, “It’s punny, because you always hog the computer, plus hedgehogs are your favorite animal.” Ty had not been convinced of this.

Ty would want this.

She eventually collapsed on the bed letting the exhaustion finally catch up to her. She fell into a restless sleep and didn’t know how long she was out before Church found her. She’d just jerked awake, and there he was. He head butted her and she absently stroked his furry head. “I don’t know where Jem is and I really need him. I think you’re supposed to be the magic cat that can find him,” she said in a wobbly voice.

She felt like an idiot—as if simply telling him that could send him off, because he didn’t leave. Instead he crawled up at the foot of Livvy’s bed. It was one of his favorite spots.

“She’d not ever coming back…just like my parents,” she said in hoarse whisper, then a hiccupped sob. She’d kept herself from crying up till now, but couldn’t hold it back anymore and curled in a ball of grief on Livvy’s pillow. At some point she must have nodded off again, for when she woke even though it was still dark the clouds had lifted. The moon was out lighting the sky like a mini witchlight. Dawn was still hours off. Church was gone.

Emma felt so lost.

She didn’t know when she was coming back or even if her and the Blackthorns would be allowed to return so she took a large duffle out of Julian’s room and did a once over for each of their rooms. Kit complained about not being able to go back to his house for his things after the mantid attack, and she felt a surge of empathy for his plight now. She should have paid more attention to him.

She saved Julian’s room for the last. She felt her mouth drop open at the sight of the new painting on his wall. She’d thought he was just doing some touchups, had no idea this was going on. _Oh, Julian_ , her heart twisted again.

Seeing the new mural jogged her memory of his studio and she had a flash of icy fear. She still didn’t know what he’d done with the paintings of her from his secret room—if he’d burned them all when she broke up with him, or if he’d gotten rid of them when he found out the Centurions were coming.

Heart pounding, she ran to his studio. The door to his secret room hung wide open.

***

Reasons I hate werewolves:

_Who makes up signs reminding people to stay dressed?_

_Because I hate the fact they have fashion sense and the new set of clothes I’m wearing are currently trending and not some Victorian hand me down…_

_Because I can’t leave for fear of passing through the wards that are keeping the Clave from finding us._

_Because after the last few days, the wolves seemed the only ones capable of kindness. And right now it’s more than I can stand…_

The Praetor Lupus had offered the Blackthorn family sanctuary while the Clave imploded. The organization had close political ties with the Consul—they’d rebuilt together after the Dark War, but the werewolves didn’t like the idea of the Cohorts gaining any more power either.

Kit imagined the werewolf population disagreed with the idea of being rounded up and put in ‘resettlement camps’. Maia had started off as a mundane. He bet High School had taught her what happened to the Jewish people in Europe when they’d been put in ‘camps’.

 Everyone was especially worried about what the Clave might decide to do with Mark and Helen.  Alec believed everyone was safer here, out of sight and behind the werewolf wards until they had a better understanding of how things would settle. They’d lost whatever hope they had of putting down the Cohort, they seemed stronger than ever. And the mood felt different here—and it wasn’t only from the grief. It was the fear from what was to come.

All the Blackthorns took turns sitting with Ty to make sure he was never alone. Even Tavvy. This was supposed to be a break for him, to shower and change, eat—have a few moments to himself. He hated it though. Even this short time away felt like he was abandoning him and he’d made a promise to Livvy. A promise not to leave.

It wasn’t the promise though that was making him want to rush back though. He wanted to go back because he wanted to be with Ty.

He thought to distract himself with checking out the library, see if they had any more Sherlock Holmes books, but their fiction section was too modern and erred on the side of supernatural romances (if their collection was an indication, werewolves had _no_ problem with interspecies romances). He wandered to the psychological section, and self-help hoping for a Temple Grandin book. She’d had autism and he remembered seeing the movie they’d done about her. But, that was a long time ago and he didn’t remember much.

There had been nothing on autism, but plenty of self-help books. The one about survivor’s guilt caught his eye, but not enough to pick up.

Another reason to hate werewolves: _Their library has books that are not only in English, but seem useful._

His gaze wandered to the computers and he wondered what piece of his soul he’d have to barter for an outside line to the internet.

Maia found him scanning titles and took a few moments to talk to him alone. She was hot too, but her boyfriend/fiancé was kind of scary so he didn’t look too long. Were there as many good candidates to fill a Hot Werewolf calendar? From what he’d seen of the Shadow Markets, no, but of the Praetor Lupus? Maybe.

“Our mission here is to help people transition to their new lifestyle,” she said. “By choice or circumstances navigating this new world from being a mundane can be confusing and sometimes scary,” she said in a voice to make any therapist proud. Then she’d asked in complete seriousness: “Would you like to meet with a counselor?”

When the hell had the werewolves and vampires become so New Age? He could see his father in his mind’s eye simultaneously shaking his head and cursing. “ _Why the hell haven’t you run yet boy_?” the disembodied voice asked.

The fact that Maia was probably onto something only bothered him more.  

He had a sudden thought and before he could think better of it he caught Maia before she left, “Are you serious with helping me with therapy?”

***       

Helen Blackthorn was a case in petite elegance. Where the influence of Mark’s faerie blood left him wild and a bit feral, hers cast her in the mold of poised confidence: She had beautiful sea green matching Blackthorn eyes, and the same pale blond hair, fair skin and pointed ears, as Mark. Helen was the classic hallmark beauty of what Shadowhunters were warned against.  She reminded Cristina of a benevolent faerie princess from a mundane faerie tale.

Cristina hadn’t known what to expect of Helen: the exiled sister most of the Blackthorns themselves knew little about. It was clear she was grieving as well, but she’d been so efficient in moving to protect her family after the Council meeting that Cristina couldn’t help being impressed. There was steel and strength in the wake of incredible loss, hidden behind that beautiful grace.

Cristina felt awkward, her cheeks flushed as she disentangled herself from Mark—though he showed no signs of embarrassment.

“Helen, well met,” Mark said with a formality that was at odds with how close the other Blackthorns were with each other. Was it because of their shared faerie heritage, he spoke to her this way, or the fact there were many years between them and they no longer knew each other well? “How fare our brothers and sisters?”

Helen flinched. There was only one sister between them now, but it was said in ease as if he hadn’t realized it yet. She didn’t correct him. “I expect they are as you, Kit has taken to rocking Ty,” she looked puzzled by the statement. “Julian…”

“Yes, we must speak of him.”

“He is a man grown, I almost did not recognize him. I think of him as a boy still, but as I watch him now— “

“He is like father,” he finished.

Helen sighed. “Yes, he is.” Cristina did not know if that were a good thing or not. The Blackthorns never spoke of their parents, nor did Emma. “He is with Tavvy.”

It was Mark’s turn to flinch. Tavvy who had tantrums at Julian’s continual absences was inconsolable when Julian had told him of Livvy. It wasn’t fair that responsibility had fallen to Julian, just as it was unfair all the other things he’d shouldered since the Dark War. But Julian was more than a brother to Tavvy, he was the only father the boy knew, so it could be no one else.

“Do you know why Emma left? I think she is the best thing for Julian. She always has been, and he needs her now,” there was a slow creep of anger in her voice.

It would be easy to assign blame right now with emotions running high for things people had no fault in, but Cristina was in no mood to let Helen believe Emma had in any way abandoned their family. “Helen, you have been gone from your family for a very long time. The Clave was cruel in its judgement to you and as such you have lost many years with them. But, there is much you don’t know. Please don’t make any judgements in haste without understanding things first.”

Mark was looking at her oddly. “You know more than either of us, do you not Cristina? Emma is your friend and held more confidences in you than my brother has in me. I expect he has hidden much from you as well, dear sister,” he added to Helen.

She understood why Mark would feel that way. He knew half of the truth—that Julian and Emma loved each other. But, he hadn’t been told of the curse. She didn’t want to come between the brothers, they needed each other too much right now, but that was something for Julian to tell Mark, not her.

“We spoke often on the phone, though if the Clave knew we had even that small communication they would have barred that too. He knew it was all I could give him and I’ve feared for a long time that things were not as well as he would have me believe,” Helen explained. “Please tell me what I do not know.”

“Yes, that is Julian. He would not have wanted to worry you more than was necessary,” Mark said, bitterness tinging his voice.

Cristina turned to go. What they had to say was a private family matter and it had been years since they’d been given a chance talk freely with one another. She didn’t want to intrude. “Please, Cristina. Do not go,” Mark said grabbing her hand when she tried to leave. “You are a part of this family too.”

Cristina felt a hot flush to her cheeks again, not quite knowing how to interpret that statement. Helen’s gaze was shrewd as she looked between the two of them and seeing as how she found the two of them only a few moments ago, Cristina could only imagine what the she was thinking. She didn’t know what to think herself. Her feelings had grown for Mark like a tangled vine binding their two lives together: her own life somehow tied to this amazing family. To be allowed to share in their sorrow with them was a gift.

“When Arthur came to head the Institute, to become the children’s guardian, he’d already been inflicted with faerie punishment of madness. I believe it was left over from his time spent in Faerie with father. He was unfit for both jobs. Even now I do not understand how neither the Silent Brothers who treated his injuries after the Dark War, nor the Council did not see it,” Mark explained, frustration and anger leaking back into him.

Helen’s eyes widened in disbelief. She hadn’t suspected then, Cristina thought.

“It fell to our young Julian to become parent to the younger ones and to hide Arthur’s condition as best as he was able, by running the Institute himself.”

Her tired face looked sick, a bit like curdled milk. “Mark, that’s simply not possible. He was only _twelve._ ”

“He feared if anyone discovered his secrets the children would be separated. There was no other guardian to take so many, he said. He believed that he and perhaps Ty and Livia—” for a moment as he stumbled over her name, “they would have been sent to other Institutes or perhaps the Academy. Tavvy and Dru would have been fostered out, yet there was no guarantee even they would not have been separated. The Clave would have ended what was left of our family. And Emma was only allowed to stay because they became _parabatai_.” Even as Mark said those last words she could see how his mind clicked those pieces together. Emma and Julian should never have been allowed to be _parabatai_ —it was not an act of selflessness and friendship, but so Emma wouldn’t be lost to the family too.

Helen’s eyes filled with tears, glistening sea gems. It was strange for Cristina to realize Mark’s mismatched eyes were what seemed normal to her now—that it was Helen, while beautiful to the point of perfection, was odd to her.  “I made him promise before I was sent into exile to take care of the younger ones. I knew he would, but it did not occur to me the full weight he’d bear to make that promise.”

“Helen, he loves those kids. As if they were his own. He wanted to do it,” Cristina explained. She’d seen too much of Julian with them to think anything else.

“And he was never alone,” Mark added. “He had Emma. Always he had Emma.”

“To ease my heartache over the years, I try to remember the fond memories. I remember him visiting the New York Institute all in a mess in candlewax and trouble. I cannot reconcile myself with that boy who is now a man, and a stranger to me.”

“Cristina is correct Julian has been a father to them. Livvy. He will blame himself for her death,” Mark said.

“It’s not true Mark,” Helen said in a flash of fire and rage that made Cristina think perhaps Helen Blackthorn had a bit of a feral side as well. “We were all there! if it was anyone’s fault it was the Cohorts. He has to know that.”

It was Cristina who spoke trying to be diplomatic. “Helen, it was his idea to bring Annabel. He thought Magnus would be there, that the Clave would be interested to learn the truth. Even I cannot believe their level of hate or how their voices have grown so loud. Regardless of fault or blame, I think Mark is right—he will always feel responsible, even for things beyond his control.”

“And where is Emma? Do you know what was of such importance she had to leave him _now_? Can she not make him understand?” Helen asked again.

Mark looked to Cristina too. She’d been the one to accidently tell Mark truth about Emma and Julian and she didn’t want to betray Emma’s trust again. Emma said Julian wanted to wait to tell the family until after they’d gone to the Inquisitor for a remedy. With Robert dead, Emma had confessed everything to Cristina about their plan for her to be exiled, and how all that was wrecked now. They had no idea who would replace Robert, and they didn’t trust anyone within the Clave. Emma said she had a distant relative who might be able to help them, but regardless she needed to stay as far away from Julian as possible in the hopes they could stay the curse. There was no way either one of them would endanger the kids.

“She has very good reasons. When Julian’s ready he can explain,” she said pointedly to Mark. It was all Cristina was willing to say. “Please, it has been a long time since you’ve seen each other. Take the time to ease your heartache Helen by remembering Livvy with Mark. For tonight at least. Tomorrow I promise all our problems will still be there.”


	3. Skeletons in Closets

Emma walked through the open doorway to Julian’s secret room, her stomach floating somewhere in her chest. Somebody had been in it.

Turning the light on she did a quick scan. She knew how Julian organized things and this wasn’t it. Pictures were just cast aside irreverently. Even if he hadn’t bothered to keep the pictures of her, she couldn’t imagine he left it like this.

His portfolio was leaning against a corner table under a table of paints and brushes. The desk looked normal to her even though it was haphazard in brushes and chaos. But, paintings had been torn off the wall, and Emma cringed to see one of her and Livvy fencing on the floor, as if the wind had blown it away.

Rage bubbled up as she picked it up, carefully straightening it and blowing off dust. It didn’t look too damaged. This room had been Julian’s only sanctuary and refuge from his everyday battles: keeping order for Arthur, the Institute, the Clave, the kids. This was the one place he could be unafraid to speak his true feelings through the language of paints and charcoals, pencils and watercolors. She felt violated on his behalf, and very afraid.  Who knew what conclusions that bitch would come up with.

Probably the right ones, Emma thought bitterly.

She’d only seen the room once and then only briefly. She’d been distracted by Julian himself, falling into his sea blue eyes, listening to his secret confessions of how he loved her, and a rush of kisses and adrenaline—he’d professed his loved her in this room, painted his heart out here. Mixed with the dread was also the sorrow that she’d never had an opportunity to see anything more than a quick perusal. She tried to figure out what might be missing and wasn’t sure. That only enraged her further.

The one of her as a sea goddess stepping out of the ocean wasn’t there, and neither was the one of her silhouetted against the night sky of L.A.        

She cursed under her breath again. If Zara had found these, would she have taken them to the Clave? They were already up against the ticking of an invisible clock, and if Zara had been snooping in here, their time just got a lot shorter.

Emma pulled out her blade and got to work.

***       

Kit spent another couple hours holding Ty. He’d traded off with Mark. Helen had peeked her head in, but seeing them she discreetly left.

His muscles were locking up after such a tight hold for such a long time, so he let go of Ty for a few minutes to get up and stretch. There was food left on an untouched tray and he thought better of asking Ty if he wanted it. He wasn’t hungry either. Instead he stretched a bit and grabbed the Sherlock book Ty had chosen from the London Institute. _Return of Sherlock_. The irony that the first story was about Ty’s hero coming back from the dead was not lost on him.

Dru had come by earlier and Kit shivered at the icy memory: “Can you see Livvy’s ghost?”

He hadn’t. While Kit didn’t know if his father moved onto either heaven or hell, for Livvy there was no question. If there _was_ a Heaven she was there—and if she ever had a purpose it was to be a guardian angel to all the Blackthorns. She and Ty were special together, but he’d seen Livvy with each member of her family and he knew she would do whatever she could from wherever she was to protect them. And if she had half of Julian’s charm and ability to scheme she’d find a way back down. He had no doubts on that and it was exactly what he told Dru.

He hoped Ty had heard him too.

Rubbing his hands over his face he wished he could rub that memory away too:

_Dru started beating against Julian’s chest before the first flame touched Livvy in her own fit of madness screaming at him not let them burn her sister. They could use that damn book to bring Livvy back, she’d argued._

_God, the look on Julian’s face—he’d been tempted._

_It was Emma who pulled her away and spoke to her privately. Kit couldn’t hear what she said to Dru, but he watched Emma’s words cut every string of hope Dru had to ever getting her sister back as cleanly as a slice from Cortana. Dru slumped into Emma’s supporting arms and she looked so motherly stroking the girls’ hair and back murmuring quietly. He’d heard Emma scream though. He was not fooled._

_Dru’s face swollen from tears and grief, she pouted with disappointment trying to hide it when her lower lip trembled. It was a fist to his gut._

_But, brave girl that she was, she walked over to her older brother and stiffly apologized to Julian. Kit couldn’t believe it. Julian hugged her hard and put his arm around her shoulders, pulling her up against his side. Ty was on Julian’s other side where Mark and Cristina huddled near. Helen and Aline clustered around them too. Emma flanked Dru’s other side and Kit noticed how both Emma and Julian reached their arms around Dru, so they were still touching._

_He didn’t feel like he had a place there, but Emma motioned to him over to stand with her including him into their family. She seized his hand, gripping hard in a kind of solidarity, as they leaned in close, propping each other up. He got the feeling she didn’t want to let go of him any more than he wanted to let go of her._

Dru locked herself in her room after that and he hadn’t seen her since.

Julian would be here soon. His rounds were mechanical now, or at least predictable. If he’d been frightening visage of control before, now he was positively terrifying. Kit knew enough about Julian to know that he felt as much as Ty did, he just pushed it all down in a different way.

The whole family, wrecked though they each were, still hovered around each other. He’d thought the family working together like a machine, all moving to work together, each piece essential and integral to function. That machine was smashed now, yet they still hung onto each other with a desperation that humbled Kit.

 Ants did this. When rain or floods came they hooked onto each other and together created a raft to float on until the flood passed. Alone an ant would wash away. Together they built a raft using each other’s bodies to stay afloat. It just really needed to stop raining on this family. So, they clung to each other at the funeral, they checked on each other constantly, and while they at times went their own ways—for Mark screaming at the sky from the rooftops, or the times Julian completely disappeared, they always came back to each other.

He wanted to talk to Ty about ants.

Instead, he opened the first edition to the page he’d left off in and yes, the idiot Will H’s reach extended here too. This time in the form of a dedication from Sir Arthur Conan Doyle himself to the mysterious bibliophile defiler. That was almost a rhyme.

Maybe Ty could help him find obscure and unknown words to match raunchy rhymes. They could become quotes for his planned Hot Shadowhunter Calendar.

He’d first settled on the idea of Jace being in the Hot Shadowhunter Calendar after Livvy gave him the idea. He was the first month he’d assign—October. For Halloween. Jace would look spectacular oiled up and in silky gold lam boxer shorts with a title header: Rocky. In the background he’d put a red banner reading, _In Just Seven Days We Can Grow a Man._

There would be a lovely quote at the bottom: “A Mental Mindfuck Can Be Nice”. That summed up his entire life since his dad died. He could post it into his Tumblr account and shoot it around the Downworlder fan base. He’d be instantly famous.

Kit thought to add the _Rocky Horror Picture Show_ to his list of things to do if Jace wanted more bonding time. He knew just the theater for the best role play. He’d had second thoughts later—that Jace might confuse the actors with demons and Kit didn’t want to be responsible for an ‘incident’. God, these people were so completely backwards with the whole gay thing, though Alec and Magnus seemed cool; they probably didn’t even know what a transgender was.

He wondered if Ty would ever want to go with him, but with the loud music and noise, maybe not.

That’s what these past few weeks had been, a complete mental mindfuck and he was seriously considering taking up Maia’s offer of therapy.

Their once banished sister Helen came by every few hours and Kit assigned her the month of December or January. With the pale faerie skin and light blond hair he thought she’d make an excellent ice queen for winter, and while she was regal like a princess she was surprisingly warm. Now, her wife Aline, she’d make a good August, summer in a bikini all warmth and golden skin from her Asian ancestry.

He wondered if he tossed these ideas out to Ty he’d get a reaction back. Even if Ty wanted to hit him, he’d take the hit willingly only to know that Ty was still _there._ In another day he just might be desperate enough.

But, he was finally ready to talk to Julian about Ty.

Sometimes Kit still didn’t get with all that happened to their family why they still let him stay. Emma had left to find Jem and Tessa the day after they’d arrived at the werewolves, and the whole thing with her leaving was weird. If there was any time for her to stay he thought this should be it, but he was starting to understand that a Shadowhunter’s life didn’t hit a pause button because of a disaster or part of your own world ending. Still parabatai never need to be separated, that was one thing he knew, but Julian needed to stay with his family and he guessed one of them needed to be on the outside world.

It some ways it seemed strange that the world kept moving, time kept passing, without Livvy.

But Ty was fading, and something needed to be done.

He’d already read the book once aloud all the way through—he wasn’t sure Ty was even listening, but he wouldn’t give up. Even if only his voice and a familiar story could lure him back to the world.

He sat next to Ty, close enough to touch, cleared his throat and began to read again.

***

After Cristina had gone, Helen hugged him and Mark felt an easing in his heart, a little brother again. He could not say how glad he was to have her close again.

“What are the memories that have eased your heartache?” Mark ask bewildered. He could not fathom how this could help. Every memory and thought he had of Livvy was a blade to his soul.

“I remember when she was born, and how they were both so small, and mother would put them in the same crib together, for Livvy would cry if Ty wasn’t near. I was so glad to have another girl in the family—the Blackthorns were being outnumbered by boys.”

Mark had thought for a long time crying babies were annoying. He’d only started to get used to Jules. And they were always on the floor, a ready-made moving obstacle course. Even as babies they had a twin language where she knew what Ty needed. Julian would try to appease Ty giving him every toy he could find, but it was Livvy (who couldn’t even crawl yet) that rolled across the floor to find something and roll it back to Ty. Even then Ty had been too serious, an old man grimace of acceptance that she’d helped him—that she understood him.

“I remember learning to surf and Livvy would go to the tide pools with her kickboard to practice,” Helen spoke with fondness. “Emma would help, but I took her out a few times on my board. She loved it, and I loved doing it with her. Always she was with Ty, but he didn’t like getting wet, or the sun—and it felt like something just for her.”

“You didn’t do that for long.” Mark _did_ remember that now, a recovered memory long forgotten.

“It was the tiff with the mermaids, remember? When I tried to settle a dispute between them and the nixies? One of them thought I was treating them unfairly—They got their revenge. They strung a net of jellyfish I rolled into.” She winced at the thought of the pain, and the two days of healing red welts that the iratzes didn’t like to heal. “I wanted to take her out again, but I thought it would be too dangerous. I thought we might do it again together on another stretch of beach when she was older. She never went out with Emma, did she?”

Mark grimaced. “Emma was never the same after her parents were found in the ocean. She avoids it, now.”

“ _Emma_?” Helen looked shocked as if trying to assimilate this new information to the girl she’d once known. “Emma and Julian: they were always thick as thieves. Still are, and in more trouble than ever if my guess is right.”

“Yes,” he agreed. He was taking Cristina’s warning to heart. Emma and Julian had broken one of the Clave’s oldest laws. They would not be forgiven. He wanted to tell Helen, but it was Julian’s secret, and he thought it might be part of the reason she’d left, although he couldn’t figure out the why of it.

“Brother, what aren’t you telling me?” she asked sensing his distress.

“Not tonight, on the morrow perhaps. With Julian. Please tell me more of your stories,” he said hoping to divert her attention away. “I hadn’t realized how much I’d forgotten. The hunt is like that—a place for forgetting. Everything there was for the moment, there was no past there. Nor future. Perhaps it has stolen from me more than I knew.”

Her face was filled with sadness and regret, but she did as he asked and continued. “I dated that Faerie boy when I was sixteen. Do you remember, Galen? The nixies were the one to set me up with him, as a thank you.” Mark felt himself smile a little. Family was not always easy and those few months after Tavvy’d been born, before they’d known their mother was sick, was contentious to say the least. “I snuck out a few times with him. He invited me to that Faerie revel. It was Livvy who ratted me out. She was only six, but already a good spy. She was convinced the Faeries were trying to steal me away. Father was furious.”

Mark’s smile was grim. “She was right to. Though at the time I know you blamed her—but Helen, everyone knew you were dating him. I was not pleased with you either.”

She snorted in exasperation, “Because I didn’t ask you to come?”

“Even then I knew you were curious about you’re Fae side. And from what I know of the Faerie now I would have been just as angry as Dad—maybe even more so. It was the only time you’ve been in Faerie, wasn’t it?”

Helen hedged. “I wished to know more of my mother. I had questions, but you know I couldn’t ask father.”

“I know,” Mark agreed taking her hand in his, giving it a gentle squeeze in sympathy. “You were mad at Livvy for a long time. She thought you hated her.”

“She knew I forgave her, right?” Helen asked hesitantly.

Mark felt himself curse under his breath. Was this the nature of guilt, where every person was touched by a measure of doubt that they were loved and loved back? “She knew that Helen. There was never any doubt.”

“I missed so much,” Helen continued. “You know more—you’ve been with her since you’ve returned home. I don’t even know what she was like as a teenager. If she had a crush on a boy, what her favorite music was—I don’t even know if apple pie ice cream was still her favorite. Tell me what she was like. Tell me the things you learn when you live together as a family, not just the few solitary updates between hands changing on the phone.”

So it was Mark’s turn to confide Livvy’s secrets—how she threatened to kill him when he first came home when she thought Ty was in danger, and how he was proud of her for it. How she helped Julian with the others, how she was a terrible cook and loved her saber, her newfound loyalty to Kit, and how she was brave.

Helen wiped her tears away.

“Tavvy is very upset. He is with Jules—I wanted to stay with them, but Tavvy told me, ‘You’re not the sister I wanted to come home. I want Livvy.’ I saw the look on Julian’s face, perhaps the need to scold him, but he was sobbing in Julian’s arms inconsolable.” She paused for a long time before finally confessing, “A part of me wishes that it was Livvy who had come home too—If one of us had to die it would have been easier on the family if it had been me. I am already gone from them.”

“One life is not interchangeable with another, Helen,” Mark said growing angry. “If it had been you we’d have grieved equally, I think.” Where Mark screamed to the sky, and Julian turned everything inward, Helen was growing harder for what happened. “I did not think there was room for me in this family when I returned, but there was, there is for you too—more than ever we need you now. You and Aline both.”

“But, I’ve lived so much of my life, have had a chance to know love, to— “

“You have been in a prison these last five years. You’ve had those years of your life stolen from you. As your family, they were stolen from us as well. I hate that Livvy is gone, but I am glad that you are here. Please, no more of this—I cannot take it.”

She bowed her head, “Of course,” she agreed. Maybe he was the only one she could voice these thoughts to, though. Mark didn’t think Aline would have stood for talk like this.

“Did you ask me that because you think the Clave is not finished with you? That you worry they’ll pass a sentence of execution and your life might be forfeit anyway? What that will do to Aline and to us?”

Helen let out a deep breath. “You saw what they were like, Mark.” Mark knew Helen well enough to know that was the closest answer he was going to get from her.

Between Helen and Mark, there was a measure of acceptance in what had happened to their lives because of the Clave’s decision. They were the ones paying the brunt of that price for the Clave’s fear and prejudice, but they’d always had hope that sometime in the future they would get their second chance at life and family.

That was no longer true.

Helen hadn’t known the cost to Julian as he struggled beneath pressures that might have broken full grown men. Now Livvy was dead. Those were things they could not let pass, for they could never be changed. Worse, Mark agreed that the Clave would take this as an opportunity to punish them further. Mark’s life was in danger as well, and if the Clave found out about Julian and Emma they would surely be stripped of their Marks.

“I spoke to our mother’s sister, Nene in Faerie and I agreed to pass this message along, for there are things you have a right to know,” Mark said. Helen’s ears twitched. They did that when she was either surprised or emotional. She had always been the one between them who held a fascination with her Fae ancestry. They never spoke of it around their father, who would have discouraged it, but often as children they’d speculate and make up their own stories to fill the void.

“Tell me,” she insisted.

“Julian arranged with the Seelie Queen for you to be a Clave ambassador between the Seelie Court and the Council. Nene was skeptical. She hinted that more often than not the Queen’s plans fall apart, almost like she wished for the self-destruction of her people.”

“Julian made the arrangement? How on earth?” she asked completely exasperated. “The Cold Peace forbids any contact with the Fae, how?”

“You will find our brother quite political and manipulative—he’s had to be in order to maintain the L.A. Institute in well enough stead to keep the eyes of the Clave away. Kieran believes him to be quite ruthless and I do not disagree. You must relearn Julian, Helen if you hope to understand him.” He could tell she did not like his words, but let him continue.

“Nene did say that should the Queen’s plans fall apart, which they have, that the Seelie people know of the Clave’s cruelty to you. Nene said should you wish to find sanctuary with your mother’s people, they should be glad to have you.”

“And you have lived long among the Fae, what do you think?” she asked neutrally. Mark was not deceived.

“I think you move from the cruel hands of the Clave to the cruel hands of the Court. I think they should enjoy torturing you, but will not kill you.”

Helen laughed. “That is perhaps the most fair and honest of statements.”

“The Unseelie King wishes to depose the Seelie Queen: bring her people under his rule. If he succeeds, then there will be no place for a Blackthorn in Faerie. If you make yourself valuable to the Queen, and he is defeated you will be treated well.”

“It is much to think on. And my wife, Aline?”

“Aline was not discussed. Because she is a Shadowhunter I think they would treat her brutally, as a chance to repay in kind how they have been treated. But as she is of your heart’s marriage, already promised and pledged, I believe their customs dictate they would have to accept her. But Helen, I was with the Wild Hunt and Gwyn. He was a very different master than either the Queen or the King. If you go to the Seelie Court, you will become a subjugate to their will, the Queen’s will. She will demand oaths of loyalty and there will be no freedom. With the Clave, if the Cohort rises, they can always be voted away—it is a populace vote. There can be hope for reinstatement from exile if the winds change. That is not so with the Queen. She will demand oaths of fidelity, and those will be unending. It may save your life to choose sanctuary in the Court, but what kind of life would it be for you and Aline?”

“It sounds as if you are the political one, Mark. You give sage advice.” Her brows pulled together in a frown. “I have missed this: To speak my heart and mind freely and for someone to understand my dilemmas because of shared blood means shared burdens. If the Cohort rises in power, what then of you? They will come after you as surely as any other Downworlder. Did Nene offer you the same? Is it something you consider?”

“I cannot—I will not leave Julian. When I left the Hunt, I promised I would not leave my family again. Especially not now. And I have growing feelings for Cristina.  If I must choose my place to make a stand, it will be against the evils and injustices of the Clave. And I cannot do that from Faerie.”

The mention of Cristina was a pleasant diversion for Helen. “And Cristina? What are these growing feelings? Are you lovers, have you promised to each other? She seems a very much part of this family.”

With the grief of Livvy so heavy on his heart Mark was surprised at the lightness in his mind, in his soul at the thought of Cristina. “My heart is complicated, and I think divided and I don’t know what to do,” Mark admitted.

“Divided?” she asked confused.

“While in the Hunt, I loved another. The Unseelie Prince, Kieran. He is a long story. It was a love of necessity and he betrayed me—and our family bled for that betrayal. I did not know my heart could find a way maybe not to the whole of forgiveness, but to a place of understanding. There is an irony that Cristina’s gentleness to the world has helped show me a path as to how that may be. But, yes, when I am near Cristina, I very much want to share with her, my body, my heart, my pain, my joy. She is a gift to the world and to me one of compassion. I fear making a mess of it.” The flowery speech had crumpled on his last words.

“You are a good brother, a good person and worthy of such affection, Mark. So, she knows of your past with Kieran?”

“Yes, Kieran and Cristina have met, have fought together. He sees what I do.”

She frowned. “Are you suggesting he has feelings for her as well?”

Already the sun was coming up, the night evaporating. Where had it gone that Livvy was still not here? Mark kissed Helen on the cheek. “As I said, it is a long story.”


	4. Exile

It was stupid of her to come back to this beach, probably the same way it was for her to go back to the Institute. It was how they found Annabel—people always returned to the places that mattered to them, and this place was special.

But, Church would know to find her here. He’d bring Jem.

Julian had wanted Cristina to come with her, but Emma had assured him that Jem would be enough, that she’d be okay. If she couldn’t be there to watch over her family, she trusted Cristina to.

It was late evening, the pale lights of first stars kindled in the night sky. The constellations looked gray and colorless compared to the jewel night sky in Faerie. Livvy would never get a chance to see this again, and her heart broke at the thought.

There was a cold indifference to time and its audacity to keep moving along regardless of human tragedies. Arthur would have a ready quote to match her sentiment, but even he was gone now.

How could an entire day have passed already without Livvy in it?

She paced along the water’s edge far enough away a stray wave didn’t soak her feet in salt and cold. Even now she didn’t want the ocean to touch her. Emma let her mind wander to the thoughts of Livvy: fencing with her in practice, as Livvy learned to whirl her beloved saber with a wickedness that passed ordinary Shadowhunter proficiency, Livvy teasing her about a date with Cameron over pancake breakfasts, of her always standing protective next to Ty.

God, the Blackthorns were _never_ going to be the same. She wasn’t sure that she ever would be either. And Julian had taken every emotion he had, wrapped it up tight and buried it deep. He was always the one responsible for his younger brothers and sisters and she knew he believed he failed in protecting her. But Emma knew the truth. _She_ was the one who hadn’t been fast enough or strong enough to stop Annabel in time.

These last days had been the worst in her life, and given all that she’d lived through from Sebastian’s attack on the Institute, her parents’ death, the slaughter in Accords Hall during the Dark War—it all paled in comparison as she stood with the Blackthorns as the first flames took Livvy’s body.

She blinked back tears and saw a shadowy figure move along the beach. She was about to pull Cortana when she saw the familiar ruffled cat marching ahead.

She felt herself sag with relief as Jem came and she found herself enveloped in a comforting hug. He was the only family left to her in the world and she felt incredibly grateful to have his steadiness now. _Trust Jem Carstairs,_ she’d heard her father whisper in her dreams when she’d clung on her own precipice between life and death after Iarlath’s whipping.

For the first time in her life she was glad that her parents weren’t here to see what had happened. And if Livvy had to go, she _knew_ her mom and dad would be waiting for her on the other side of whatever divide death was. So were Mr. and Mrs. Blackthorn.

Maybe Emma wasn’t as alone in the world as she felt. Jem had said he wanted to be her uncle.

Jem would help them. She was sure of it.

“Magnus finally got a hold of us. He told us what happened with the Clave. I’m so very sorry about Livvy.”

Looking into his soulful face she could see true grief in his eyes. She appreciated the sincerity of his thought, but he really hadn’t known Livvy at all. He’d only met her once and it wasn’t like the Blackthorns were his family. She guessed that for every young person’s death a whole world could grieve. And at his age he probably knew more people on the side of death, than on life. She was sorry Jem and Tessa would never know what an amazing person Livvy was or how incredible her life was going to be.

The sting of tears was back, tugging Emma away from her numbness.

“How much did Magnus tell you?” her voice was hoarse, the gentle breeze of the night stealing the question away on the wind.

He looked puzzled, a slight frown bowing the edges of his mouth framing a seriousness that made him look a decade older. “I know Annabel was questioned under the Mortal Sword, that she attacked and you fought her. But the sword shattered under Cortana,” he let out a low breath. “It wasn’t your fault Emma.”

“Livvy— “she started surprised to be interrupted by her own hiccupped sob.

Strong arms surrounded her again and he let her cry.

When she finally calmed enough she pulled away wiping her tears and nose with the sleeve of her shirt. She felt stuffy, choked up with the hopelessness of it all.

“Is that all that Magnus said?” her voice sounded small.

He sighed. “He said you have been busy, that I should ask you. That the safest place for the Blackthorns now is at the Praetor House, but I don’t understand why you’re not with them.”

“You once told me you could be an uncle of sorts, is that offer still open?” she asked trying to inject an enthusiasm into her voice she didn’t feel.

“Of course,” Jem led her away from the encroaching water and they settled onto the beach. There was still a lot of moon left in the sky. She wondered if it was enough to hold open the road to Faerie and she resisted the sudden urge to leave everything behind and hunt down Annabel and the Unseelie King. Find the book. But, she promised Julian she wouldn’t go without telling him first—without giving him a chance to come with her. He’d known she would want this. It felt inevitable, that road now.

“You used to be a Silent Brother. Can you still perform their rituals?”

“It depends. Why?”

She couldn’t negotiate like Julian, and with Jem she probably didn’t need to, but she did want certain promises from him first. “I’ll tell you everything. I swear I won’t leave anything out, but if I do you have to promise to tell me everything you know in return. Please, it’s not just for me. Julian’s life may be on the line, maybe all the Blackthorns.” Did it sound like she was begging? Did she care?

His brow furrowed in concern, but he gave a nod of agreement. “If you need me Emma, I’ll be there to help you. You’ll always have that promise from me.”

“Before the Clave meeting, Julian and I went to see the Inquisitor,” she began. “He agreed to exile me.”

Jem looked stunned. “What law did you break to deserve that kind of punishment?”

Maybe Magnus had really glossed over events, because she had a running list of offences that would put the mundane phrase ‘repeat offender’ to shame. There was only the one though that was beyond her and Julian’s ability to deal with.

She took a deep breath gearing herself up for the confession. She didn’t know why the words were so difficult to say. She’d fallen in love and with someone wonderful. There was no reason she should feel ashamed for it.

“Magnus said it might be the only way to slow the _parabatai_ curse down.”

***

When Helen had finished her Shadowhunter training, and was of age, her father asked her to be the Council member to represent the L.A. Institute. The position was in Idris, would qualify as her year abroad study, and give her direct experience with the Clave. Even before the two wars it was a controversial posting. But her father had encouraged her to stand up for herself, to not be ashamed of her heritage, and he more than anyone believed the Clave needed the added voices of common sense and reason.

Part of her hadn’t want to go. Her mother, Eleanor had died the year before and she’d taken up a lot of the household tasks of taking care of her siblings. She didn’t want to leave them. But, there was another part of her was relieved to be able to travel and take a break from the responsibility—get a chance to live her own life. In a way, it was the best of both worlds because she needed to travel often between L.A. and Alicante for the post.

She’d only been in Idris for a few weeks when Valentine had returned and plunged the Clave into the throes of what was now known as the Mortal War. In the mix and mess of oncoming war, Helen had frequent interactions with the Consul and that put her in the same circle as Aline.

Aline was the greatest of blessings in a very dark time, and quite a surprise. She knew that Faeries were quite open and flaunted their sexuality, diverse in their partners and love, but that was not so for the world of Shadowhunters. Alec Lightwood, a family friend had done the unthinkable and scandalized the entire Nephilim world when he and Magnus began dating. Helen still didn’t know which stigma was worse, the fact he was dating a warlock, or the fact he was dating another man. But, his unashamed bravery had a direct impact on the younger generation of the Clave.

Maybe it was because he was a hero during the wars and earned the right to claim who he loved, or that his father was the Inquisitor and the family had such a high level of respect, that he could break through the barriers of hide bound convention. The Clave for the most part just turned its eye away from Alec’s ‘unfortunate character flaw’, but for those in her generation who identified differently from the typical boyfriend/girlfriend mold, he’d become a hero of a different sort.

Helen believed she and Aline were always destined to meet and love each other. They would have regardless of the Clave’s prejudices. The difference was Alec had forged a path where they could have that kind of love out in the open. And for that Helen was lucky enough that when she opened the door, to find Aline waiting up for her, dressed in silky pajamas, Helen got to call her ‘my wife’.

“Come here,” Aline said, dragging Helen onto the bed. Helen felt her nose twitch at the unfamiliar smell of a new shampoo. She didn’t like the smell of false perfumes and made a mental note to speak to Maia to see if they could find an alternative. Although, beggars couldn’t be too choosy. But, it _was_ Aline, and if Helen nuzzled her nose close enough under Aline’s ear, she could smell the real her. Aline giggled at the tickle.

Her lips were soft and knowing as she kissed Helen. It was chaste, a simple affirmation of their love. Not every night was meant for lovemaking and passion, some were just for this—companionship. They’d made promises never to leave each other, to be the pillars of strength when one needed the other.

Aline had been there for Helen’s downfall and followed her right down into it—stubborn woman that she was. Even when it meant Aline suffered her own price. She was exiled just as much as Helen was, separated from the Penhallows in sympathy with the Blackthorns.

For years, Helen had waited to be reunited with her family, and now that she was, it felt like she couldn’t have been further away from them. Aline had been with her earlier tonight when Tavvy had his outburst. Tavvy’s words were a hot poker to her soul, a burn she’d never forget. Dru had been there too, miserable and tear streaked. She hadn’t looked at Helen either. And poor Jules…

He was still her little brother, but he was nothing like the young boy she kept picturing him as. He was a man now, and a stranger.

“You found Mark?” Aline asked softly.

“Yes,” she said stretching against Aline. She loved this time the best, the chance to just talk. Helen could be vulnerable with Aline. She didn’t need to hide her true self from her, like she did to the rest of the world. Aline was her safe place, always would be. They’d had a thousand of these kinds of talks since they’d been together. Helen told Aline what she learned from Mark, the truth about Arthur, and Aline looked just as shocked as Helen felt.

“You’re mother never gave any indication to you that things weren’t well at the Institute?” Helen asked.

“She is not like that, babe. If she knew about Arthur, she would have intervened. Not just for the sake of keeping the Clave in running order, but to protect those kids. If it’s true, that Julian was an invisible Head for the Institute— “Aline whistled low under her breath. “That was an impressive trick.”

Helen looked worried, shadows under her eyes, a frown puckering between her brows. “How could he have done it? How could I have not known?”

Aline laughed a little. “He did have Emma as his _parabatai_ , I’m sure she helped him. The two of them exasperated my mother to no end during the Dark War. She’d wanted to send Emma to the Academy, believed that she might make a good Inquisitor or even Consul someday,” Aline hesitated then, “and I knew you weren’t in favor of them becoming _parabatai_.”

Helen sighed. Aline was right, she hadn’t liked the idea of them becoming _parabatai_ , she thought Julian loved Emma a little too much for that, but Emma had always been oblivious. She wasn’t concerned about the law, she was worried about her brother having his heart broken. “No, but I am glad for it now. I keep thinking back to what I missed, but some things are starting to click. Like when Arthur didn’t come to our wedding. I remember thinking at the time he was new to running the Institute and couldn’t risk the political implications, that he couldn’t risk being seen as a faerie sympathizer. I never even talked to him on the phone—it was always Julian.”

“And now you think Julian, perhaps encouraged that perception to explain away why Arthur didn’t come?”

“He only said that Arthur had a minor crisis to deal with, but he looked guilty. The guilt was probably because he’d been lying to me. I want to go back and strangle that little boy.”

“You want to go back and hug him and fix his world for him.”

“That too.”

“I made him promise to take care of the other kids. I didn’t know— “Aline rubbed her back in gentle strokes trying to soothe away the tension. It wasn’t really working. Helen had unwittingly thrust Julian into the task of raising and protecting four children, and his solemn promise to her bound him to a life of secrets and lies. “Aline, I asked him to be my _suggeness_ , because there was no one else. Even I expected him to fill the shoes meant for an adult. He shouldn’t have had to do that, I could have asked Alec— “

“Shush. Julian wanted too, of that I’m sure. He would have been angrier at not being asked. And compared to everything else, it was a small thing. What he did was hard, but don’t you dare blame yourself. It wasn’t your fault.”               

“He couldn’t even talk to me. He probably thought I was useless to help him, because I couldn’t even help myself.”

“Stop that,” Aline said grabbing Helen’s face to force her to look directly into her soulful dark eyes. “Don’t make assumptions as to what he was thinking. Just ask him—then set him straight.”

“It’s like he doesn’t even need me, that none of them do,” Helen felt that familiar wave of sorrow that had battered her so relentlessly these past years. It felt terribly unfair for Aline to always be the life preserver holding her afloat.

“They all need you. You can’t change the past. For Julian…for Livvy. What we need to do is figure out how to move forward. You weren’t there before, but you are now. What the Clave did to you was never your fault. You can’t feel guilty for that.”

“I thought I’d always have time to make up for it, Aline,” she whispered. Alone on the vast ice sheet, they’d play the game: What would you do when you have your freedom?

Aline wanted to go on a sunny beach for a month to thaw. But for Helen she’d say: “I just want to go home. I want to feel what it’s like to be in a big family again—the chaos and the fights, and the love.”

“Helen, we could live a thousand years, and I don’t know if it would ever be enough time.” She spooned herself against Helen, a protective cocoon: it was their modus operandi reserved for the coldest of nights, when the winds howled through the protective wards and barriers and seeped into every crack and crevasse of their pathetic living quarters.

Tonight was no different. Only a different bitterness they needed to learn to live through. 

***

Julian did another round of checking in on Ty. This is where Kit had fallen into his own routine of finding something else to do. Grab a bite from the communal fridge, take a shower, avoid Maia. Not this time.

Julian looked exhausted, his eyes deeply shadowed with grief. He kept rubbing them as if to hide his tears, but his slumped shoulders, downcast head, spoke of someone who held the weight of the world on his shoulders. His parents named him the wrong Greek name, he should have been called Atlas. Everyone was concerned about Ty and the younger kids, Mark screaming from the rooftops (literally), he wondered if anyone had taken the time to check in with Julian. And Emma had taken off and that was really weird.

“He’s asleep,” Kit told him. “I can tell. When he wakes up he starts to rock. I think he wants to shut out everything in the world—go to a place in his dreams where Livvy is.”

Julian’s eyebrow arched in surprise. “You seem to have come to know him rather well. You knew them both—together. Ty and Livvy. Livvy and Ty.” His voice choked up and he took a second to clear it. “You were friends with her too. She liked you.”

Did Julian know about their kiss together? The thought was enough to make him sweat. He felt his shoulder lift in a noncommittal shrug. Nothing was scarier than the idea of what Julian Blackthorn could do as an overprotective brother. Not that it mattered now and _that_ thought was a punch to his chest.

“Has he said anything to you? He hasn’t spoken to me, not since…” Julian’s tone was tortured. _She wouldn’t want to be here._ The urn was still on Ty’s nightstand. Neither one of them could look at it.

“I wanted to ask you something,” Kit started carefully. Julian nodded that he was listening, but Kit drew him out into the hallway for privacy. “It’s about _parabatai_.”

Julian stiffened his entire mood changing. Yep, something was definitely up between him and Emma.

“When Livvy was hurt before and Magnus tried to heal her, he mentioned that runes would have worked if she had a _parabatai_ , that she could take strength from that. That’s true?”

“Yes. It’s actually pretty rare for Shadowhunters to have _parabatai_ though. But, yes, especially in battle we’re able to tap into each other’s strengths. Why?” There was suspicion in his voice that made Kit more than a little nervous.

“Ty is fading,” Kit said not easing the bluntness of his words. “If I could, I would give him some of my strength to help him get through this.” He’d rehearsed this speech in his head and hated how lame it sounded coming out.

“You want to be his _parabatai_?” Julian asked shocked. 

Kit nodded. “Yes.”

Julian bowed his head and rubbed the back of his neck. “I think Ty is very lucky that you would want to do that for him, but _parabatai_ are more complicated than that. He doesn’t even want one, I know that for sure.”

“No,” Kit disagreed. “He’d agreed to be Livvy’s. She was really excited about that.”

It was like a slap in the face, Julian losing all his color. Both hands covered his face rubbing hard and he half fell against the wall collapsing to the floor. Kit didn’t know if he was crying. Finally, after a few moments Julian asked, “When did they decide that—Ty was so adamant about going to the Scholomance, becoming a Centurion.”

“Not after meeting Zara and the others. He said he changed his mind, said that they were assholes.”

Julian laughed bitterly. “He seemed different when we got back from Cornwall—I didn’t have enough time to check in with him with everything else going on.” His breath hitched. “Livvy too.”

“Nobody blames you,” Kit tried to reassure. “But, Ty is willing to have a _parabatai_ , so I thought— “

Julian held his hand out to stop Kit right there. “Stop there. I think there are things I need to explain to you, things you might not understand yet.”

Kit wanted this very much so he could be patient and listen to Julian. It was a perfect answer, and he knew that _parabatai_ didn’t get separated. Even with all the confusion with what was going on with the Clave right now he knew he’d never need to be separated from Ty or the Blackthorns. He didn’t want to be.

“To have a _parabatai_ ,” Julian started, his voice hitching a little. “You only get one. It’s not something that is interchangeable with anyone else. In some ways it’s more than marriage, because the bond can’t ever be severed. Not unless one dies or becomes a Downworlder or a Shadowhunter has all their Marks stripped to become a mundane. And if that were to happen, you would never get another.”

It sounded sad. _He_ sounded sad, and this time he didn’t think it was about Livvy. He really wondered what was up between him and Emma. “If Ty and Livvy made that choice together, it’s not something you can replace Kit, no matter how good your intentions— and I wouldn’t allow it either.”

He felt rebuffed, like he somehow wasn’t worthy enough in Julian’s eyes. He suddenly very much wanted to argue with him. “Why?”

  Julian wasn’t the sort of person who rose to bait easily. He was thoughtful for a long time and Kit gave him the time. It would be really easy to fight, it’s what he wanted, but the thoughtfulness waging a war on his face made Kit press pause on all his own angst.

“I haven’t told the rest of the family yet. I’d planned on doing it by now, but with Livvy gone—with the Inquisitor gone, a lot of plans have changed.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I’m going to tell you, because I don’t want you to be blindsided, in fact I’m counting on you to help and be there for my brothers and sisters. Can I count on you to do that? As Shadowhunters we can make a solemn oath before the Angel. When we do that, it’s important not to break that word, that promise. It can be hard, those promises to keep.” Julian stared Kit in the eye, demanding. “If you were willing to commit to Ty like that, by making that offer, then I think you can handle this promise.”

It felt scary and momentous what Julian was asking, like when Livvy asked him to commit to staying with the Blackthorns. He’d promised her then and he was willing to promise whatever Julian had in mind. If he had to be a Shadowhunter, these were the people he wanted to be with.

He nodded. “What do I do?”

“Swear on the Angel not to repeat what I’m about to tell you, that if a time comes you’ll do what is necessary to protect Ty and the others.”

“But I already would.”

His smile was sardonic. “I know.”

“Ok, I swear on the Angel then. Not to tell whatever secret it is you have, and I already promised Livvy that I’d protect Ty. That goes for the rest of your weird family too.”

Julian let out a deep breath. “That promise means more now that Livvy’s gone, doesn’t it?”

He was right, it did.

“I think Livvy would come down from Heaven and kick my ass if I didn’t. Plus, she probably knows everything that is going on—like Santa Claus, knowing when everyone is naughty and nice.”

Julian gave him an odd look. It was probably another mundane reference he wasn’t getting.

But, then he confided to Kit the truth about him and Emma. About the laws of _parabatai_ , the curse and what it meant. He explained the meeting with Robert, the exile and their ruined plans. That with every other problem that they had, the two of them were up against a clock and didn’t know when the buzzer would go off.

“That’s why Emma left?” Kit said answering his own question.

Julian gave a tight nod.

Emma had come by to see Ty before she left.

_“Ty, please listen to me,” Emma had sat close to him on the bed. She hadn’t tried to touch or hug Ty. They seemed close and Kit didn’t understand why she kept her fingers tightly clasped in her hands rather than reaching out to him. She’d wanted to, he saw that. “Julian needs you so much right now. I have to go and it’s killing me to leave him alone. Please promise me you’ll look after him. That you’ll take care of each other.”_

_Ty had rocked, but gave no indication he heard her. “I remember the feeling that everything in the world was never going to be the same again. And it’s not, but Ty please hold onto Julian and Mark. Dru and Tavvy need you to, and Helen’s here.”_

_She’d looked so haunted when she left, but even then she’d spent a few minutes with Kit. They just sort of sat together like the shell-shocked survivors of a bomb blast._

_“I heard Tavvy having a meltdown. He knows then?” he asked._

_She nodded. “It reminded me of Ty. Did they tell you about being in Idris during the Dark War?”_

_He shook his head no._

_“Their father, Andrew Blackthorn, was turned to one of the Endarkened. He broke through into the Accords Hall with the rest of them. We were trapped, a whole room full of kids—Diana was near us, I remember that, but most of the other guards were cut down so fast. They went after us kids after that.” Her voice was hollow at the memory, as if repeating details of what someone else had lived. “He came for Ty.”_

_“What?” Kit yelped._

_“I don’t know why he chose Ty, except maybe that he was the most vulnerable and trusting. Julian wouldn’t let that monster get him though. He threw a dagger, strong and true right into the heart of a monster wearing his father’s face. Ty, he didn’t understand, all he knew is his father was dead for good and it was Julian’s fault.” She croaked through her own words struggling against tears. “He started beating up on Jules telling him how much he hated him for what he’d done. Livvy pulled him back, tried to help.” She took a deep breath before continuing, “Seeing Tavvy with Jules just now,” she wiped away the stream of tears. “It was like that. I wanted to go get Livvy so she could help, she was so good at helping, but— “_

_He pulled Emma close to him and let her sob in his shoulder and it was the weirdest feeling to be offering comfort to someone so strong._

_“Livvy was magic with Ty, but I don’t know how she did it. I didn’t know what to say. When Ty can finally hear you will you tell him he has to do for Tavvy whatever it was that Livvy did for him. Will you do that for me?”_

_He nodded, and she got up to leave, a shelled-out ghost. “They have to look out for Julian now, promise me.”_

He didn’t know why that promise was so important until just now.

“Jem used to be a Silent Brother, we hope he can perform the exile ceremony, apply the runes and that will slow down what’s happening to us. But, just in case I want you to watch me. If I start to act strange or unpredictable, then I need you to make sure to get them as far away from me as possible.”

“That would never happen to you. You love them too much. I see it when you’re with them,” Kit whispered. He wished he sounded more sure, but magic could do crazy things.

Julian sighed. “When we went to Faerie, they played their tricks. It was like with Uncle Arthur where you believe the illusions in front of you are real. We all saw Emma’s father in a Unseelie combatant who meant to kill her. She wouldn’t fight. All she saw was her father—it was _that_ real. From what Magnus said I think it might be like that. I may look at Ty and see the Unseelie King and believe I finally have a chance at killing him. From there it’s supposed to only go downhill. I don’t know for sure, but I can’t take the risk of hurting my family.”

“So, you’re just never going to see Emma again?” Kit asked incredulous. He could not believe just how awful this guy’s life was.

“We’re working on a way to break the curse. It won’t be forever.” His tone was dead, but also a little scary like someone pushed past all endurance and ready to throw caution to the wind. It was eerie he could hear both voices in Julian.

“So, I would have agreed for Ty and Livvy—they are twins and brother and sister, they’d never feel that way about each other.” He paused then. “But, I don’t know about you and Ty. I wouldn’t ever take a chance away for my brother’s happiness.”

With that he clapped Kit on the shoulder before leaving behind a very bewildered and uncomfortable Kit.


	5. Unmerciful World

Mark was waiting on the roof when the heavy cloud cover changed shaped. The clouds frothed and foamed, an unearthly magic overboiling from the cauldron of the sky. The churning darkness spit out a white figure in the distance. Windspear. Kieran had come.

He turned to Cristina who was clasping her hand with his: the same hands that had been bound together with the red faerie ribbons. The binding spell was broken, and the connection they shared was their own now.

“I sent a fire message to the Scholomance,” she told him. “I thought he might come,” she added shyly.

Mark lifted Cristina’s hand, opened her palm to his lips and gave her a chivalrous kiss. “My thanks, my lady.” He was surprised at how relieved he was to have Kieran close to him again. The last few days had been tempestuous, to say the least.            

Within moments Mark was in Kieran’s fierce embrace. Everything was welcoming and familiar, from the changing kaleidoscope of his hair color to his arrogant confidence. Something loosened inside of Mark, like a fist releasing a tight grip. It was a painful feeling as locked muscles spasmed at the respite of being free to move once more.

“Tell me what happened, Mark. I did not realize danger had fallen to you or your family. I thought it was perhaps a coup when Diego came to whisk me away. I did it for Cristina—but I should not have left,” he said ashamed.

“You were right to go, and I am thankful to Cristina with having the forethought to make those arrangements. Your father—it was a good thing you did not stay,” Mark admitted.

Kieran looked puzzled, but gave Mark the time he needed to gather his thoughts, to finally speak to the events of that horrible day.

“I’ve never seen someone questioned under the Soul Sword before. It is something we fear as Shadowhunters, for we cannot lie or keep hidden our deepest truths. I had not realized how painful, how torturous the questioning was. Tiberius told me they’d all been forced to testify as children, after Sebastian raided our home. Dru—she would have only been eight.” He began pacing. “Julian, Tiberius, Livia, Drusilla and Emma. Tavvy escaped, but that was because he was only two.”

Cristina was on his other side and he was grateful she was with him, too. She’d been there. She’d seen everything.

“What happened?” Kieran asked with the gentlest of voices. Hushed and threatening his gentleness was the calm before they marauded the killing fields of the dead. The one that promised pain with no mercy; vengeance and retribution. There was much they could do together unencumbered without rules or strictures—where the only law that mattered was the most primal of ones: strength ruled, and all else fell beneath their blades.

“A mind is a finite thing. There are points in each of us when we break. And some may break us in ways we can never come back from.” _The lashing that would have come if my brother and Emma had not stepped in to save me,_ his eyes said to Kieran _._ There was no blame or accusation left, just the simple acknowledgement of what they both knew. That had once been Mark’s breaking point. Since Livia’s death, he’d found a new one.

“I do not know if it was the Mortal Sword or the Clave that did that for Annabel. She raised the sword as a weapon and ran through the Inquisitor. She then attacked Julian. He was unarmed, yet Emma was there—fierce and flying with Cortana.”

“Annabel has been changed. She is no mere Shadowhunter and watching Emma fight her—I am not sure Emma is either. Their blades clashed and Maellartach cracked to pieces under Cortana. Blood and black, the ringing of metal shards and the clap of power—I felt it in my bones, in my soul. Livvy reached the dais to throw Julian a sword. She’d broken through the guards holding us back. I hadn’t,” shame overwhelmed him, an admission of his failure.

Pain, horror relived—the scream on the cusp of ripping through him again. “Livvy was unarmed and I think Emma was shocked by the power surge—Julian too. Annabel flew at Livvy. It was so fast, faster than faerie speed. I didn’t even realize what I was seeing until she was on the ground covered in blood. Ty was near me clutching his chest. I thought in that moment he was going to die too.”

Mark’s eyes were far away staring at the memory.

“Your father was somehow there,” Cristina told Kieran.

Kieran’s face jerked to hers in utter bewilderment. “ _What?”_

“We didn’t know if Annabel was bluffing with the Riders about knowing the King’s true Faerie name. Actually, we still don’t. But she was in the midst of the Council meeting, holding the Mortal Sword. Maybe he couldn’t have risked it being revealed. He made his move Kieran,” Cristina explained. “After Livvy—there was a blast of smoke and power, and the image of your father’s symbol, the broken crown. When it cleared, Annabel was gone. Along with the Black Volume.”

Kieran clasped Mark close to him and Mark fisted the back of his shirt taking the comfort. Kieran face was close enough to his for them to share each other’s breath. Gone was the petulant little boy who sulked over things he could not have, replaced by a man who had the bearing of nobility as befitted his regal bloodline: the same royal blood as their enemy. He was still arrogant, but he loved Mark, even if it was in his own way. When Mark stared into his depthless black and silver eyes, there was another kind of communication between them.

Once they’d been youths together, paying their way to manhood on the rites of passage of the Wild Hunt. Together they struggled against the betrayals of their own people finding sanctuary with one another; when Kieran’s father sold him to the Hunt, and the Nephilim abandoned Mark. Neither of them had been perfect as they navigated their way to figuring out whatever their relationship meant. In fact, they’d done a fair job of ruining their relationship, in the offering of mutual deceits: Kieran when he’d sold out Mark after he exposed the secrets of the Fae to Cristina, and Mark when he lied to Kieran.

Their eyes met and none of that mattered any longer. They were united. Whether it be from the injustice of Livvy’s death, the Cohorts treacheries, the Unseelie King or from Annabel. There was a tacit knowledge deep in Mark’s soul that understood: _we will stand together against this too, against anything this unmerciful world will throw our way, as warriors together we will not leave each other, we will fight back to back as we have always done._

The Wild Hunt was a callous and cold-blooded teacher. The Clave and Kieran’s father did not understand what Livvy’s death awakened. Kieran’s words were simple. “There will be vengeance and we will be the ones to serve it.”        

Mark was shaken at how much comfort the thought brought.

***       

Jem’s expression remained blank while he absorbed the news, before a flash of horror crossed his face. He turned very pale, like a marble statue. He stood frozen looking at her as if she’d just sprouted snakes from her head. He needed to unfreeze, because they needed to get to work on fixing this. After all, it wasn’t like she’d just announced a surprise engagement to Asmodeus.

Jem didn’t say anything for a very long time, his brow furrowed deep in thought. The silence felt like an agonizing judgement. She watched as he twirled his dragon cane between clenched hands, slowly sinking it into the sand. He was glaring at Church who was chasing a crab.

When she couldn’t stand the waiting anymore, she finally asked, “Can you perform the ceremony? I had wanted you to be there anyway. But, now nobody will believe Robert agreed to it, that we were trying to do the right thing—that _we_ agreed to it— “

He let out a deep exhale and stood to pace. He looked rattled. “When you asked before about the curse, about the runes, it wasn’t about Malcolm?”

“Malcolm knew about us. I think he always knew, maybe even before Julian and I realized it ourselves. He taunted me while he tried to kill me. He said my death would be doing Julian a favor because of the curse.” She shivered at the memory. “It was the first I heard of the curse, because the law didn’t make any sense.”

He stood before her with a gravity and a seriousness that scared her. “Emma, you said you’d tell me everything. I need to know about the runes. It’s important.”

So, she told him. She told him of Julian being shot and poisoned and nearly dying. How it felt like a damn breaking, every barrier between them collapsing in a flood of memories—Julian’s faith in her, her unconditional love for him so that the rune practically wrote itself. She told of how it flared incandescent white, something neither one of them had ever seen before or understood, and how there had hardly been a scar left after he nearly bled out. How they’d eaten waffles afterward. She told Jem that she hadn’t even known she loved Julian like that. She spoke of the Endurance rune in their fight against Malcolm, and how it saved her life when Malcolm’s magic should have killed her.

“It was worth it,” she whispered. “Julian would have died the night Diego shot him. We couldn’t have saved Tavvy that night we fought Malcolm. I heard Julian in my mind telling me to wait, while he got Windspear to break the protective circle.” Her voice was low as if trying to convince herself, “It had to have been worth it.”

“That day after I talked to you, when you told me what the curse meant, I made Mark start dating me. I thought if I broke Julian’s heart he would stop loving me—that even if he hated me at least I’d be saving his life.”

Jem didn’t like what she told him. She could tell by how his spine had stiffened, and the sudden tension bunched in his shoulders. He couldn’t mask how his jaw clenched and made him look angry. He must be so disappointed in her.

“It didn’t work out that way,” his tone was rueful and sad.

She shook her head. “No. We found the place Malcolm used to resurrect Annabel. It was a church in Cornwall. A holy place. The magic of the Black Volume—it left a tear between dimensions, to a demon realm. Julian was on the roof, he ripped open a section to let the sunlight through, while I fought the demon below, but he saw things from up there. We killed the demon, but he said the place had turned infernal.” She took a shuddering breath telling the last of story. “Together we used a fire rune. It melted a stone church—hopefully enough to close the rip. But, I knew then that it hadn’t worked. That he still loved me.”

Jem’s face was lifted to sky as he listened to her story, maybe asking for some kind of divine intervention. “Love is a gift Emma,” he finally said with a sorrowful smile infused with sympathy.

“Not to _parabatai_ ,” bitterness laced her words. Platitudes might make her scream.

“No, not the all-consuming kind. No, it’s not,” he agreed.

“You never said if you could do it. Magnus said exile would deaden the bond. He promised to help us find a way to undo the curse somehow. Can you do it?”

He took her hands in his. “You’ve been honest with me and I know you want to do the right thing. But, things are complicated now.”

She didn’t like the sound of that. “You mean how the Unseelie King sent the Seven Riders after us—that he has the Black Volume and can sever Angelic magic to this world, and how I shattered the Mortal Sword? How the Cohort is going to take over the Clave and will want to execute Mark and Helen? How Annabel is still out there?” She felt that familiar rage snapping inside her, the familiar spark of heat to warm the cold dead places she’d felt since Livvy died. “How Livvy is dead?” Her voice had risen to a low shout.

If love was to be taken away from her, maybe she could live on the rage. She certainly had enough of it.

She felt Jem suck in his breath.

“What’s wrong?” she asked. Jem’s eyes were a dark brown like hers. Even with the light of the moon his were glossy black, but she saw the light of dull fire reflected back at her. But, they weren’t his eyes glowing, a fiery amber—they were hers.

She jerked away from the sight and closed her eyes. She must have been wrong about what she thought she just saw.

“It is a problem with the law,” his tone was filled with regret and frustration. “God, if I’d been here, seen what was happening,” he mumbled to himself in frustration. “It is there as a sternest of warnings, but the unintended consequence is that _parabatai_ wait too long—by the time the Clave is there to help there aren’t that many options.”

She didn’t know what was worse—the idea of the Clave helping in anything, or their lack of options.

Emma felt a flare of alarm, her heartbeat jumped in a hot blood of panic. “They can’t strip us of our Marks, we’d be left defenseless! The kids—oh God, Julian can’t lose the kids and they can’t lose him, especially now!”

And she did what she always did when she felt threatened. She went on the offensive.

“You helped save our lives in Alicante—then you left and never looked back. You’re right that you weren’t there to see anything that was happening to us. I _don’t care_ that you weren’t there when Jia was going to send me away to the Academy, and the only choice left to us was to become _parabatai_. Or when they sent us Uncle Arthur, who _was_ utterly mad and completely unfit to run an Institute or raise us. It was Julian, at _age twelve_ , who had to learn to head an Institute and raise his brothers and sisters all by himself. The Clave would have broken the rest of his family apart if he wasn’t there to hold them together, and I _won’t_ let the Clave do that to him now!”

She felt a warm flush to her cheeks, a restless energy spiking within her with the need to do _something_. “All I’m asking is that if you know a way to save our lives, again. I won’t ever ask anything from you again, you never even have to see us again—just, can you do it, or find a Silent Brother who can? We just need some time to figure out a way to the break either the bond or the curse.”

Something other than what the Seelie Queen was offering, but she was smart enough not to say that.

Emma didn’t think it was possible for Jem’s face to grow any paler. He almost matched the moon. She knew he’d been poisoned a long time ago—that it was the reason he’d entered the Brotherhood and she wondered if the haunting sickness on his expression was an echo of that long-ago pain. Tortured—that was it. What could possibly be worse than what they already knew of the curse?

“Emma, you need to realize that he’s a danger to them. So are you. That fire rune was more than likely ignited Heavenly Fire. I am telling you this so you understand the level of power that you’re dealing with. The madness is destructive enough, but when you couple it with potentially unlimited Angelic power, it’s disastrous.” He looked directly in her eyes, “If the two of you are that strong already, separation and physical distance at this point isn’t going to matter. And if they try to strip you of your Marks now, it _will_ kill you. You are past the point of where an Exile rune can help you.”

This wasn’t what he was supposed to be saying. He was supposed to be giving her the hard-won wisdom accrued over a century of being a Silent Brother. He was supposed to help her find a way to fix this, but nothing about him was comforting now.

“I don’t understand. If they can’t strip our Marks and exile won’t work, what’s left?”

He looked at her with an ere of sympathy and compassion that frightened her. It was a long time before he could work his way up to what he said next. “What’s left is to take you to become an Iron Sister.”

“ _What_?” she practically shrieked.

“They can apply runes that will not sever the bond, but make it manageable,” he explained.

All of a sudden, the way the Iron Sisters had looked at her when they confronted her about the Mortal Sword made a lot more sense. Had they known? Or suspected?

“I don’t understand. The Citadel, the Sisters—it’s like a prison.” The words stumbled out. She thought about Annabel—what it must have been like for her when she realized that was to be her fate, even if she never actually made it there. Someone else punished for who they loved. That couldn’t be her.

A hundred different thoughts crowded her mind all at once. It was completely unreasonable for Jem to even make that suggestion. She’d never see Julian or the kids— _ever again_. But, what wouldn’t she do to save Julian’s life? What wouldn’t she sacrifice? But, if she were imprisoned there, she’d never be able to help Julian against the Unseelie King, or Annabel, or if the Riders came for the Blackthorns again. She could do nothing to stop the Clave if they turned against Mark and Helen.  And the Iron Sisters didn’t age like normal Shadowhunters did. She could be within their walls for centuries while all the Blackthorns would grow old and die, their children would grow old and die…They were like the Silent Brothers that way.

A horribly ugly thought started to percolate in the back of the brain. 

She licked her suddenly dry lips. She felt numb all over. She couldn’t stand to look at him. “If I did that, if I went—Julian? He would be okay then? He could stay with the kids; the Clave would leave him alone?”

Jem’s face was anguished. There was no room for both truth and kindness.

“It’s not enough for it to be just you. Runes will need to be applied to him as well—to sever as many ties as possible. You’ll still keep your power, can even do great things with it.”

Puzzle pieces reshuffled themselves and a sudden understanding came to her. _How could he sound so calm?_

Jem had leftover Marks from once being a Silent Brother. She’d never thought much of them. They were a part of him the way Mark and Helen’s pointy ears were a part of them. His face so pale in the moonlight, like all the healthy golden tones of his Asian ancestry had been leached away. It made the remaining dark Marks high on his cheekbones, a leftover token of the Brotherhood looked harsh and accusing. It was a stark reminder to Emma that Jem Carstairs had once been something else. And he’d been a Silent Brother far longer than he’d ever been her quasi uncle.

She felt suddenly very unsure of expecting help from him. He kept his tone calm now but she felt the warning goosebumps along her spine realizing it was the same way Julian had tried to talk Annabel down in the Accords Hall. False assurances that things would be okay, all the while knowing things had moved too far past a point they could ever be fixed.

“You want to make him a Silent Brother? That’s the big secret of the orders isn’t it—why they’re more powerful than ordinary Shadowhunters. Are they all like that? _Parabatai_?” she asked, a hollowness mixing back in with the numbness of the all the days’ other griefs. She tried to imagine Julian morphed into a monstrous form where she’d never see his blue green eyes again, they’d be sunken pits of blackness. His soft curls, gone to a bald head. His lips stitched together with runes of Fettering—she remembered that from the Codex. He’d be kept away from his family, from her. Forever.

Did Jem really believe this was a legitimate option, because she was _never_ going to let that happen to Julian.

Malcolm was right—he should have killed her rather than leaving Julian to this fate. Silas Pangborn had chosen to kill himself before he let that happen to his Eloisa and she understood his decisions (that had never quite made sense in the stories), perfectly now.

She was going to be sick. Not even the ocean could instill the terror she felt within her now. Could Jem see it?

“Not all are _parabatai_. But most,” he answered, confirming her fears.

The errant thought came that James Carstairs had been cured and freed from the Brotherhood with Heavenly Fire. But maybe that was only because he had never really been one. Not truly—for he’d never known the full strength of what a true parabatai bond could do. If what Jem said was true, and her and Julian had ignited Heavenly Fire at the church, then that wouldn’t save them either—they’d already been exposed to it.

Maybe she should feel grateful someone was finally telling her the truth, but at the moment a part of her hated Jem Carstairs, or at least the lies he represented. Every _parabatai_ had a right to know the full consequences of their decision. They’d been children. What could children understand of the kind of love between a man and a woman.

That wasn’t right, either. How many same sex _parabatai_ had this happened to over the years? Nobody would have even thought or suspected because love of that kind was still culturally unaccepted by the Clave with their hidebound ways. They thought they were probably better at hiding it, but love wasn’t something you could hide from a curse, and in the end it wouldn’t have made a difference.

“The tests and trials, the screenings—it is rare this happens Emma. They don’t want this to happen. Usually, if spotted early enough it doesn’t escalate to this point.”

“But after Valentine’s attack, when so many of the Brotherhood were slaughtered—we’d be a gift to them.” She felt betrayed. And the shock was edging toward paranoia. Or maybe that thought was the curse rearing its ugly head. Would she even know the difference?

He looked even more disconcerted. “It’s a curse. As such it can be broken. We’ll look for an answer: me, Tessa, Magnus.”

_Oh, yes it could be broken_ , she thought to herself.

“And how many centuries have you been using that line? How many _parabatai_ have you said that to, to lure them in? And they wait for how long? Centuries, millennium—till the end of Nephilim?”

He jerked her to face him. “Emma, I know you’re scared right now. But, know that I won’t abandon you to that. Please believe that _._ ” He sounded a little desperate. “It has been many years since I’ve been a Shadowhunter, but I will come back into the folds of the Clave so I can watch over your family. I swear on the Angel, we will find a way.”

There was no way he could make that kind on promise. And what would watching over the Blackthorns even mean, checking in on them once a year? Like Ty or Dru or Tavvy could somehow recover from not just the loss of Livvy, but from them as well?

The Downworlders were right. The Nephilim did lie. She just hadn’t expected it from him. It was something she should have learned from Jia when she’d lied to Julian about the Clave never giving up on rescuing Mark from the Wild Hunt.

“I need to talk to Julian,” she whispered. “He needs to know this.”

“Of course. Stay with me and Tessa tonight. This is a lot to take in for both of us. We can talk through it more. You can speak with Tessa, too.”

It was odd hearing that from him, like they’d come to some monumental agreement together—as if everything had somehow been decided. If he believed that then he really didn’t know her at all. Didn’t know Julian either. But, then, why would he? He’d shown up for her _Parabatai_ ceremony with the same last name years ago. Maybe she just needed the illusion of having some family left to her to be real. But having the same last name didn’t really make him family. And he didn’t owe her anything.

_Trust James Carstairs,_ her father’s ghostly voice echoed. It had felt so real, that dream of her parents. Maybe she just needed that to be real, too. To see her parents one last time.

No, she wouldn’t trust him. Not if it meant giving Julian up to the Silent Brothers. She’d rather die.

_No, we were always on our own. It was my mistake to think otherwise. We’ll figure it out on our own, just like we always have._

She jumped, startled when her phone alarm began blaring, an obnoxiously loud warning.

“What the hell?” she asked pulling it out. Jules had set up a system of mass alerts for the Los Angeles conclave a while ago. She was programmed into it, but it had never gone off like this before.

She looked down at the text. It was from Cameron.

_Malcolm’s back with his creatures. All back up come now!_

She didn’t even think, she just ran.


	6. Evil Angel

Emma arrived at the location of a deserted and dilapidated shopping mall. Something was very wrong. There were no mundanes, and it was oddly quiet, and way too far from the ocean for an incursion of sea monsters. She expected to smell the demons first, seaweed and rot, see chaos and imminent danger—but it felt like an abandoned movie set, one for an upcoming horror movie and she got the sinking sensation she was supposed to be the star. Cortana was warm and comforting in her hands, but every hackle she had was standing for an ovation as she realized this was some kind of trap.

Jem had managed to keep up with her, so at least she had some backup.

Cameron walked out from behind a fallen awning next to some dumpsters and Manu Villalobos was at his side. “I’m sorry Em. It wasn’t my idea. She’s the new Head, I had to do what she said. I didn’t know they were going to do this, I would never have hurt you like this.”

She surprised herself when she said to him, “I know.” It was a betrayal, but she was starting to get used to that feeling. What was one more disappointment? It still hurt though, and it made her angry too.

“I wondered when you would come back,” came an overconfident voice from behind Emma. Zara was here. Emma gritted her teeth. She wanted very much to kill Zara Dearborn. Emma would look at this set up as a personal opportunity to make Zara regret everything that happened at the last Council meeting. She slowly turned around, simultaneously noting Jem and also discarding him as any possible threat.

“And where is your famous _parabatai_?” she taunted Emma. “Do you think he ever gets tired of being called that? It’s like he doesn’t even exist beyond you. But, then he really doesn’t care does he, since he’s in love with you.”

Emma’s blood ran cold, as she let rage become her friend. So, she’d been right that it had been Zara in the studio. Being right didn’t make her feel any better, it just pissed her off. And a couple artist renderings of her wasn’t proof. _By the Angel, Julian please tell me you didn’t paint me naked or us having sex or something._ She’d have to ask the next time they talked.

“Why would you think that?” Emma asked doing her best to look both confused and oblivious. Julian was so much better at it than her.

“Not only have you committed treason by helping the Fae,” Zara continued not even bothering to answer Emma, “you destroyed the Mortal Sword. And you and Julian, _parabatai_ ,” The word spit from her mouth, “are in love with each other. So much for the being the best Shadowhunter since Jace Herondale—you are a traitor and everyone knows it now.”

“You have no proof of that,” Emma said. But, if Zara knew, the Clave knew.

Gen Whitelaw and Thomas Aldertree came up behind Zara. So much for the idea that there might be any decent Centurions left. How many had she brought?

“Emma we’re so sorry about what happened with Livvy—“ Gen started.

“We’re here to arrest you, Emma,” Zara said. The other two looked very uncomfortable. “Not make friends with her.”

“It’s not an arrest,” Thomas stepped in wanting to smooth things over—or maybe just not wanting a fight. “The Clave has questions, they requested your presence in answering them. That’s all.”

Emma snorted. “And who’s going to question me and with what? The Inquisitor is dead and there _is_ no more Mortal Sword. And I’ve already spoken to both the Silent Brothers and the Iron Sisters.” She’d diffuse this situation if she could, but wasn’t hopeful.

“With the Mortal Sword shattered we have no way to know if you’d give us anything but lies. My father is taking Manu under his wing when he becomes Inquisitor. He promised Manu could be the one to question you—if it’s the only way. He very much wants some alone time with you.” Zara seemed delighted. She should be friends with the Seelie Queen. They were both sadists.

“It’s your duty you go back to Idris,” Thomas said again. “I’m sure everything will be worked out with the Clave. You fought Annabel in front of everybody. They know that. Nobody blames you for what happened to the Soul Sword.”

He tried to use that same calming tone Julian did when he’d tried to talk Annabel down. Julian was so much better at it. She could hear his sweating behind the words. This could get messy.

Jem stepped forward. “My name is James Carstairs. I was a Silent Brother for over a century. If the Clave wishes it, I will see her to the Silent Brothers and any questioning will be done by them, or the Iron Sisters. I give you my assurance,” he was authoritative and calm in a way that probably made Thomas envious.

Emma felt herself frown at what he was saying though. He couldn’t really mean that, though—because there was no way in hell she’d go. And if he tried to make her, they’d be at odds, just like she was with Zara now.

“No, I don’t think so,” Zara said, her confidence slipping just a bit. “I don’t even know who you are beyond a washed up ex-Shadowhunter who couldn’t take being a Silent Brother. We will take her so there is no way she can _accidently_ get away. You can help us though,” she offered magnanimously.

It was if she spoke a code word, for another half dozen Centurions materialized from the shadows. The Larkspear twins, and a couple she didn’t recognize. They sent an entire team after her—she guessed she should be flattered.

Emma laughed. She couldn’t help herself. “All this time you’ve been selling yourself as the best Shadowhunter of your generation— _you’re_ the one that wanted that title: ‘the next Jace Herondale’, and you need this many Centurions to back you up. There are holes in your story Zara.” Emma turned to include the new comers. “You heard how she is a liar, right?”

“You are nothing without your sword, Emma Carstairs. And the Iron Sisters have tasked me to bring it to them—they want it.”

“Like Hell,” she mumbled under her breath. Emma looked to Zara with thoughtful consideration. “How about just you and me, one on one. This can be a chance to prove yourself, one on one. For everyone to see that you’re better than me. If you win, I’ll let you take me in—no fuss.” _Please be stupid enough to take the offer_.

Zara wore a bright red lipstick, so when she smiled at Emma malevolently she looked like a clown from a horror movie. “Not with Cortana,” she said, taking the bait.

Emma went to Jem. He did not look pleased by this turn of events, but he didn’t tell her no. She was grateful for that. “Can I use your cane sword?” she asked feeling a bit shy. He nodded and handed it to her. She turned to see Zara lighting a seraph blade on a whisper. The sight was a bit of a shock—what did she think Emma was, a demon?

“I’ve been thinking on family mottos of late. Which do you prefer for the Dearborns: Valentine’s Legacy or the Circle 2.0?” Emma called out.

She’d wanted to tease and anger Zara into a bad start, but it was Emma who was a little thrown by her response. “I’d be honored if my family could finish what they started.”

_Yes, she was incredibly stupid to admit that so openly._

The Centurions formed a loose circle around them to watch the fight, but as soon as they did Emma realized her mistake. After she took out Zara, the others could close in on her like a noose. She swore under her breath. “Back up,” she yelled. “Give us some room.”

Begrudgingly they did.

The fight was completely anticlimactic. Zara was trained as a Centurion, but Dru even years younger, was twice as good. She had no real world fighting expertise that Emma could tell—her speed was absurdly slow, and she seemed surprised when Emma’s regular sword pounded against the lighted blade with such strength Emma could feel the blade shake and loosen under Zara’s grip.

It felt wrong to fight against a seraph blade: this wasn’t what they were meant to be used for. The thought angered her enough that Emma kicked out, her foot connecting with Zara’s wrist and the gleaming white blade went flying away. Emma’s other foot swept Zara’s ankles and the other girl found herself on her ass staring up at Emma. Her bulging eyes were a mixture of disbelief and hatred. The tip of Jem’s sword pinned her throat. Emma hadn’t even broken out in a sweat.

“Now everyone can back off, and I’ll go on my way. No harm and no foul,” Emma said.

One of the Centurions moved closer as if to help Zara, and the others closed ranks. He was big, almost a foot taller than Emma and decked out in full battle gear. He was no fool in believing if it came down to a fight, it wouldn’t be violent. “It was foolish for the two of you to duel. Regardless of the fact you’ve bested her, it does not change our mission. You are to return to the Clave and we will bring you in, even if you choose not to come.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry you feel that way,” but she was already moving at lightning speed. She tossed Jem’s sword to him, and he used it catching the Centurions near him off guard. It felt like Jem was trying to give her an opening to escape, but as soon as she moved in that direction she heard the whistle and whine of arrows flying. _Shit_ , she hadn’t considered the roof.

She pulled the nearest Centurion into a hard hug swinging him around in just enough time to hear the thwack of an arrow go through him. She ducked away from his sudden weight and pulled Cortana free. She batted two more arrows with a blade as another Centurion threw a dagger. She twisted away, feeling the edge slice through her upper arm.

These Centurions were _fast_.

One body slammed her, her breath punched out of her in a sudden whoomph, and then Manu was there pinching the nerve on her wrist. A third swooped in and moves so well-choreographed, she knew they’d practiced this before setting her up. Emma stared in horror as Cortana fell from her numb lifeless fingers. Manu pulled her against him in a brutal hold, his body so close she could feel how this battle was arousing him. She seethed in fury.

She wrenched her head back and she felt the satisfying crunch of a head-butt breaking his nose in a fount of blood and snot. She twisted from his hold, pivoted to slam her boot as hard as should could into his knee. She could hear the popping of ruined tendons and joints as the soft tissues gave way. His scream was music.

She pulled a dagger, but wasn’t fast enough to spin away from the punch to her ribs. She doubled over in pain. She played injured possum long enough for the Centurion to come closer. She spiraled around him and sank her dagger into his kidney. He gasped in surprise. Only a Silent Brother could fix him. He was out for the count—if he tried to remove it he would bleed out before an iratze could take hold to save him. _Please take it out_ , she thought.

She glanced to see Zara holding Cortana. She had a glowing look of accomplishment. _She thinks she’s won_ , Emma thought, reenergized in her fury. Trying to take Cortana was the worst possible thing Zara could have done.

The arrows were singing again, a new barrage, and without Cortana to bat them away she was forced to dance and dodge. She was just shy of getting out of their path when one whizzed by, and she suffered a hot burst of agony as it rammed into her thigh. It scored through muscle deep enough to hit bone.

She hissed as her leg gave out. She landed hard, unable to roll with the arrow sticking out. Every bone inside her rattled as she crashed to the pavement, momentarily stunned from the shock.

She felt her eyes water, as fiery pain was replaced with the warmth of numbing of shock. She was breathing hard, feeling her heartbeat in her leg, losing blood fast. That wasn’t a good sign. She was running out of time. Her blood slicked hands jerked the arrow free—and she felt the spell. The arrow was magicked, maybe by a warlock to hit its target. With a flick of her wrist and with her waning strength threw it back in the direction it came. She heard a strange noise, muffled in the background, but knew she’d hit her mark.

Lying on the ground, Emma caught a glimpse of Zara. Her face smoldered of hatred and pride, Cortana in her hands. It was the look of evil, a place where demons were born. Emma tried to fumble for her stele, she needed to stop the bleeding. The edges of her vision were darkening, growing spotty as sudden weakness took hold.

Julian would be so pissed at her if she let them take her. _Jules_ , she called out.

She heard the clash of swords and the occasional grunt from Jem’s direction. A small smile formed on her face. Jem Carstairs was a decent Shadowhunter. She kind of already knew that from when she fought with him before—killing the mantid demons together when they rescued Kit, but that had been sort of easy. This was fighting against the best of their own, and he was still holding his own.

She needed to find Zara. Cortana. She tried to hold onto to red haze of battle rage, but it was fading from her as she felt her body giving out. Like a blind man feeling his way through the dark, she grasped onto that tethered line, the bond that made Emma and Julian _parabatai_. She felt a tiny tug—like maybe her _parabatai_ was here with her for this fight. Or, maybe it was just fanciful thinking and blood loss. She felt a flare of energy for it though, whatever it was.

Emma didn’t need to worry about chasing down Zara on a bad leg. The girl appeared standing before her, an evil angel, her arrogance restored. Standing next to her was the big Centurion twirling a metal quarterstaff and was doing a very good job at being intimidating. He’d been the one who body slammed her earlier, the one dressed in heavy battle gear, black from head to toe. She felt a surreal moment of realization of what monsters Shadowhunters must look like as they entered into battle. He was the one most determined to take her in.

Flanking Zara’s other side was Dane Larkspear. He carried the lit seraph blade that cast everything in a ghastly glow.

Zara brandished Cortana in her grasp. Emma watched in disbelief as the arc of the sword came down as if attacking her.

***

Cristina had come to the roof to be alone, only Windspear to keep her company. He was a small mountain of dangerous unpredictability with flaring ruby eyes that made Cristina think a piece of the devil might lurk within. He was a beautiful creature. She was hesitant to go near him, afraid he would either bite her, or scorn her. She had some bad memories of some of the horses she’d ridden when younger. The thought made her deeply homesick for Mexico.

She understood why Mark liked being under the open sky, for it meant some badly needed solitude and time to think. Cristina knew she needed to call her mother: reassure her that she was safe, but she was also avoiding it. Her mother would want her to return to home, and she knew she wouldn’t go. It was more than the promises she’d made to Emma that kept her here with the Blackthorns.

She was lulled by the cicadas chirping and didn’t realize Kieran was there until he’d snuck up behind her. She startled and Windspear whinnied. It was horrible reflexes of a Shadowhunter to be so caught off guard.  

He’d changed clothes. Another donation from the werewolves: he was decked out in Pink Floyd T-shirt and well-worn jeans. With his sea changing hair he looked like a rock star.

Kieran Kingson was a chameleon, finding new ways to fit and change into his ever-changing circumstances. Glamour and illusions were something Faeries were very good at. She tried to look away from him, and couldn’t.

The air was stagnant with humidity, the heart of summer overlaying a blanket of warmth only a storm front could push away. Maybe they’d get that tonight. It smelled a like rain—but Kieran had moved next to her, so perhaps it was the smell of the clouds on him. He was too close. He was not one, she suspected, to understand the concept of personal space in the same way faeries had difficulty understanding what privacy and modesty meant.

“Mark?” she asked.

“With his family. I did not wish to intrude.”

She nodded. “I’m glad you came,” she told him, her words sincere. “The first nights Mark screamed and raged to the sky in his grief. There was nothing I could do to help him. I hope you can.”

“You have not become lovers yet,” he said.

It was a statement so blunt, it caught her off guard. And his keen observation disturbed her. “What makes you believe that?”

“I can tell you are not lovers yet. Why?” He didn’t explain further. “Mark wanted to have sex with you. You care for him, yet deny him. I do not understand.”

Faerie was so very different from the monogamous culture of both Shadowhunters and the mundane Mexican culture she grew up surrounded by. It was bizarre that Mark’s lover was mad at her for not having sex with him.

Kier, Mark kept calling him. “Kier, do you prefer that name?”

“It is a name of endearment given to me by Mark; none other calls me that.”

“Kieran it is then.”

“No, if you wish to call me that as well, I will extend that intimacy to you,” his eyes travelled over her body and she shivered. He was attracted to her. Bold about it, and it unnerved her as much as confused her. An emotional rollercoaster, Emma would have said—‘Let’s go ride one for real!’

She missed Emma. She wished more than anything she was here to talk to her. She thought Cristina was headed for a romantic entanglement with both men, and she didn’t know what the steps were involved in this uncharted dance. It was not as if this was a lesson her mother ever offered her. Cristina had an expected match planned with Diego, a sensible and perfect arrangement. Falling for a half-faerie Shadowhunter and his faerie lover were definitely not on her mother’s approved lists of dates.

“I haven’t denied him, but there has been little time with many interruptions. But, I think I am glad we have not,” she admitted. This was one of those times where communication was too important, and if she didn’t explain herself correctly she was afraid Kieran would judge her. That she cared about his opinion bothered her.

“I knew Nephilim lied, but I had not considered that they lie to themselves. Why do you?”

“What?” she asked shocked.

“Your face speaks of regret, though your words do not match.”

That couldn’t be true. But faeries could not lie, so what was he seeing? She did her best to school her features to plainness while she explained, “My life has been dictated in expectations of refinement, honor, grace. I’m envious of your freedom to not think of consequences, to live in the moment of joy without worry of what will happen when the dream ends and reality wakes.” A part of her felt buried under that weight of all that repression and was desperate to be free of it. “Perhaps that is what you are seeing.”

He looked like he didn’t believe her, a frown of annoyance puckering his brow.

“My culture is different than yours,” she said. “I was raised to believe that love was meant to be shared with one person—the man who would be my husband and the father of my children. To share one’s body is an expression of that love. It is true that there are Shadowhunters who try many lovers, experiment with their sexuality on multiple partners, but I am not one of them. Just as you are confused that I would choose to wait with Mark, I am confused why someone who loves him would encourage him to be with another.”

“I do not think if it were anyone else I would,” Kieran said candidly. “So, you wish for him to make promises of love to you first? How do you even know you would satisfy each other as lovers, if you do not try first?”

Cristina smiled at that. _That_ her mother had warned her about—the logic of men when they wanted to have sex.

“I am attracted to Mark. I do want him, and I don’t need the same kind of promises you give in Faerie. But, I need to know that I am special to him, that we are committed in exploring this thing between us. I’d like to nurture a relationship with him—although I can’t say where that will lead.”

 “And he has not offered that,” he said with bitter amusement. “You want him to choose one of us, over the other?” Kieran was angry. Kieran, like Mark was not one to hide his emotions well. She wasn’t scared of him, but his fierceness was a little daunting.

“Sometimes humans make things complicated. This belief is what I know, how I was raised. Kier, I do not want him only to choose me because he is stricken with grief and looking for succor. I want him to want me for me.”

That garnered a bark of laughter. She was trying to keep up with the change in his moods. His hair swirling with color made her believe this conversation was very intense for him as well. “I saw the way he looked at you before his sister died. Grief may have deepened that need, but it did not create it. He was enchanted, maybe even infatuated with you.”

He moved near enough that she could feel the long hard lines of him next to her. It was a very different feeling from Mark. Mark was impulsive with his need and desire, Kieran was a predator stalking.

“And we also dance around that you and he have unfinished business of love and promises between you as well.” Cristina said working her way through to what really bothered her. Her breath was shallow, bordering on a whisper of shared secrets. “There are many pieces to Mark’s heart: some for his family, one for you. Can there even be one for me?”

Once Kieran understood, she wouldn’t be talking to him about Mark again—not without Mark there with them. Even this conversation felt like it was excluding Mark in a way she wasn’t quite comfortable with. “It is just as there is more than one side to him, Shadowhunter and Faerie. He must reconcile both, yet to take one away—perhaps I don’t know how one can be live with a heart so divided. It is a hard path.”  

“And yet you loved the man who betrayed you, Diego—an idiot. Yet you can open your heart freely again with Mark. I think there are more pieces to your heart as well.” Menacing and dangerous he came close to her, his hair changing in a wild sea of rich colors—blues and greens and blacks. She wanted to run her hands through it, to know if the different colors would feel of different textures under her fingers.

Before she knew it, she was in his arms, no personal space left to her, his mouth not even a breath away. His hands traced the line of her neck so his finger rested on her angel medallion, her faerie charm. His other hand brushed her hair behind her ear tenderly. Given his usual sexual aggressiveness around Mark she was amazed he was capable of such gentleness. His hands glided down her body to settle on the flare of her hips, lightly, but possessively he urged her hips to his. She could feel him hard and wanting beneath the fabric of their clothes. She swore she heard the music of ocean waves—like listening to seashell raised to her ear.  

She felt light headed, like she was falling into his shining eyes. This is how it had felt dancing in his arms, to move her body with his. A slow knowing smile curved his lips.

She felt a stab of desire and lust flash through her. Whether it be his ability to read her emotions on her traitorous face, he used that matching desire as an invitation for a kiss. Kieran was confidant and demanding, insistent. Her blood beat a ferocious drum of unexpected anticipation. His lips teased hers open and his tongue thrust into her mouth to tangle with hers. He was not shy of pushing boundaries. She tasted stars on his tongue, as her gasp turned into a moan.

Faerie didn’t hide their emotions: they were not ashamed of the primal drives of lust and sex, open with their bodies and nudity, challenging in that way for their chosen lovers. She’d thought she’d been prepared. She studied carefully, the books and stories and myths, but she felt completely unprepared for the reality of it when she was the object of focus.

Sense was falling away from her as he molded her to his body, her breasts flushed with his chest. He moved his mouth along her jaw to her pulse point that was her erogenous zone. Flushed and alive she was falling awake to this incredible sensuality she didn’t even know she was capable of.

“I see that Kieran found you,” Mark interrupted.

In a flash Cristina’s body had gone from flushed with warmth and arousal to being dunked in an icy river. She was mortified to be caught like this. Guilt pierced her. What had she been thinking? She wasn’t—that was the problem. She kept losing her wits around both men.

“Mark,” Kieran acknowledged welcoming him to the roof as one would invite another to sit at a family meal. “She tastes of honey and a touch of pepper. She is shy with physical intimacy, but very passionate. I thought to teach her.” He said it as if he really believed it. And faeries couldn’t lie.

He cheeks flamed. She tried to jerk her arm away, but Kieran’s hold only tightened. She could fight him and he’d let her go, but she didn’t want things to turn in another physical direction.

Mark’s face remained bland, for once hiding whatever emotions were running through him.

Kieran’s voice was seductive. Was it only to her, or to Mark as well? Mark’s eyes were wide, his pupils huge, so much so she could barely tell the color of his eyes in the dark. Kieran’s eyes caught hers, challenging and defiant.  “And if I said I wanted Mark tonight. That I wanted my body in his, his rage, his passion—all that he could give me—an expression as you say to reaffirm love and life in the wake of all that he has lost? Would you ask me to deny him that?”

Cristina felt her jaw drop in confusion. “What were you trying to do?” Kieran cocked his head as if not understanding her question or her anger. “Faeries play cruel games, is this one of yours?”

He looked uncomprehending. Maybe their cultures really were too different for them ever to get along. She hated that he made her doubt herself.

“I do not understand this!” Kieran exploded in frustration. “How do you explore your feelings as you say, then deny your body? How do you express yourselves? Learn each other? You practice fighting, yet not fucking? Did you not think the invitation included you? Or is your body too holy for a filthy faerie to touch?”

“Please release your hold on me,” she said with icy politeness. He did, but his hair was turning colors again, whites foaming and curling at the tips. “I want him to stop hurting. Can you tell me when you are finished, when the night is over he will be better for it?”

Mark stood silently watching the exchange as if he weren’t the one they were arguing over.

Cristina wanted to ask Mark directly if those were his wishes for tonight, but she was very afraid of his answer. He was already broken, and she felt horrible this had happened in front of him. The last thing she wanted to do was cause him any more angst.

She walked away from Kieran to Mark and put a gentle hand on his cheek. “Sex isn’t right for me tonight, but if you want me to hold you as you sleep, I will.” She took a fortifying breath to finish what she needed to say, “and if Kieran is what you need—I will understand.” She was amazed at how bright his eyes had become. She touched her lips to his in a chaste kiss, with the taste of Kieran still on her lips. Somewhere behind her Windspear was whinnying and a dark cloud blew over the moon casting them deeper in shadows.

She left them on the roof, to whatever was between them.

Kieran’s laugh was brittle. “I think she loves you. That your feelings are more important than her own wishes is a great gift. I am in awe that she would treat you with such dignity and me with such truth. I’ll wait in your room.”

*******

Mark knew all too well the sheer force of Kieran’s presence, how his own will faltered to his demands. Kier was never shy about demanding what he wanted and he’d seen the way he and Cristina danced together in the London ballroom. She’d enjoyed it then too.

Mark was still confused as to what game Kieran was playing at—all the while trying to ignore the fact his body ached in painful need that hadn’t been released since he’d arrived back home. At least not inside another body. He wanted nothing more than to stand behind Cristina, push her hard into Kieran’s arms and tangle his hands through her long hair. Her body and heart were so different from Kieran’s. Kieran was hard, unyielding, demanding, whereas Cristina was quiet confidence and softness. He’d kissed her a number of times now and there was no mistaking those gentler qualities were no less passionate.

Lust barreled through him. It was a brutal pain, his fists clenching so his nails dug into his palms, sharp enough to leave bloody half-moons on the tender flesh on his inside palm.


	7. Sanctuary

Cortana was beauty, golden and deadly. Emma’s eyes were mesmerized. She couldn’t look away from her oncoming death. Then, Zara shrieked in a fit of pain, and the sword dropped from her fingers as if she’d been burned. It dropped in front of Emma like a gift.         

Emma had no idea what happened or why, but instinct took over. With a graceful catch, she raised Cortana just in time to block Dane’s swing of the seraph blade. Cortana glowed golden as the seraph blade shattered into a shower of crystal shards. The destruction was beautiful—a cascade of adamas diamonds scattered on the black asphalt.

 She felt the air change, a soft wind and everything slowed in motion. The quarter staff was aimed for her head. She lifted herself up and catch the staff. Instead of fighting the momentum, she followed it adding her own weight. She escaped the pain of a blow as she twisted with enough strength to unbalance the giant Centurion. It gave her the added second she needed to swing Cortana. In a low arc, she cut through his heavy boots, slicing through both his Achilles tendons. He flopped to the ground like a fish.

She whirled on Zara in a primal rage.

The girl was gone, the lackey twin with her. Emma howled in frustration and in pain. She fiddled on her belt for the stele and with shaking hands pulled it out. She drew a quick iratze, and blood replacement rune. Hopefully that would be enough to allow her to get away.

She stood testing her shaky leg, the adrenaline wearing off. All she wanted was a bed to collapse into for the next year. Sound was fuzzy at the edges, and it took her a second to hear that someone was calling her name.

“Emma!” Jem shouted again. He was hunched over a prone form with red hair. Cameron.

Jem had his stele out. She stepped next to him, her mind a cloud of confusion as to what she was seeing. “His spine is crushed, I don’t think there is much I can do,” he said.

“You were a Silent Brother—put a rune on him,” she told him thinking this was very self-explanatory. Jem looked at her with sympathy and she saw on his face what she hadn’t wanted to know.

“ _No_!” she shouted and felt her knees hit the pavement. She was kneeling next to Cameron when she knew she should be running.

She brushed back his soft red hair. It was wet from his blood. Her mind flashed back to another lifetime. He’d always been a part of her life, growing up together in the L.A. conclave. She’d never loved him the way she loved Jules and she was ashamed of how, in a way, he’d played the unfortunate role of being a placeholder for Julian. She hadn’t even understood what she was doing at the time—had been an awful girlfriend because of it.

That didn’t mean there was nothing she hadn’t liked about him. She had chosen him to be the first person she had sex with and she wouldn’t have given him her body if she hadn’t cared for him. Julian should have been her first, but she had been searching for something. She hoped for a time maybe she could find it with Cam.

She hadn’t known everything she needed was already in front of her.

She wondered if he ever suspected that she loved Julian.  Tears welled up in her eyes as memories of just her and Cam flipped through her mind. “Try again,” she told Jem through gritted teeth.

“I’ll try.” Jem was next to her and drew another iratze. The rune faded and melted away. Cameron’s scared eyes started to lose focus. He was struggling to breath and she was terrified each wheeze would be his last. She was angry for him being here, for having any part of it, but she couldn’t stop the panic rising in her that he was _dying_ —and Jem, a former Silent Brother could do nothing for him. Gen came up, she was injured too, holding her arm close to her, but she wasn’t interfering.

“ _You are not going to die. Enough people have died_ ,” Emma ordered him. She grabbed the stele away from Jem and struggled to find that well of power deep within her, the one fueled by her connection with Julian. She reached along the tether of the _parabatai_ bond for Julian, and felt an answering tug. She didn’t think too hard on what she was doing, or the fact that she felt Julian’s strength and presence as if he were right next to her, when he was physically across the country—she could even smell the faint scent of cloves. If she did she would have hesitated.

Instead she let her mind free as her hand moved of its own accord tracing a flaring white iratze over Cam’s neck. She watched as the white light sank into him. His body convulsed under her hands, as he choked out hasty gasp. It reminded Emma of a drowning man.

He never should have healed from that injury.

“By the Angel,” Gen whispered.

She looked at Jem and he wore such a grim look of disappointment that she didn’t think she could bear it. Samantha Larkspear had run up bringing a Silent Brother with her. Emma was horrified to realize that he’d witnessed what she’d just done.

Emma knew if she’d stayed, Jem would hand her over to the Silent Brother, and thereby to the Clave. Without any more thought she ran. Her pained leg an afterthought, she disappeared into the night.

***

Kit met with Maia in her office. He felt like he’d just been called into the principal’s office, but she’d passed him a note to let him know the books he’d requested had come in. They were stacked on her desk.

He didn’t like people knowing what types of books he read—it seemed too much a window into his psyche. It was like if someone walked through his house and opened his medicine cabinet, or his messy closet: because everybody made judgements about what a person was like based on those kinds of personal clues. Sherlock Holmes was a perfect example.

And it wasn’t just him, but the ones on autism were to help him with Ty, and he didn’t know if the rest of Downworld was as condemning about that as the Shadowhunters were. It was a hard call when weighing between the pros and cons of asking for badly needed help, or suffering in silence and protecting a secret because one was too proud to admit they needed help.

If it had been anyone else other than Maia, he might not have asked for her help, but his instincts told him he could trust her. So, in addition to the autism, he’d also gotten two books on Post traumatic stress disorders—highlighters and sticky notes. He was thankful though that she just loaded them into a backpack and handed them off to him without any further questions.

“I found what you were looking for—we have some contacts at a farm about an hour away from here,” she told him. Kit felt his eyebrows raise. “Diana said she could take you tomorrow afternoon.”

“I didn’t think we could leave, that we could be tracked if we did.”

Maia pulled out a long golden necklace beneath her blouse. She passed it to Kit, who examined a golden medallion the size of a quarter. It reminded Kit of Cristina’s. “This is a symbol of the Praetor Lupus,” she explained as he examined the paw print on one side, a pattern of leaves on the other.

“Beati Bellicosi?” Kit asked. He was sure it was Latin and wished it were Ty here explaining the translation, teaching him the story.

“It translates to ‘Blessed are the Warriors’. A lot of times when a mundane becomes a werewolf it isn’t by choice and with no one to teach them, bad things can happen. My boyfriend hurt me, it’s how I became one myself—but he didn’t know what was happening to him either.” A storyboard of sadness played out across her face. “Shadowhunters aren’t always so forgiving of transgressions, though—and it is best sometimes to lie low. The medallions we wear can be enchanted to hide from both tracking runes and warlock magic.”

Oh, man, did she have any idea what _that_ was worth on the black market? He was momentary stunned to realize that was an old idea from an old way of thinking, because the next thought chasing into his mind was: _damn, the Blackthorns really need that._

“Is that how Emma left?” Kit asked.

She nodded. “Magnus did something extra for her, but as long as one of you has this with you, you should have freedom of movement.”

“Thanks, Maia,” and he really meant it. “Thanks for everything.”

***

Emma had spent the last two hours making sure the Centurions weren’t following her. They hadn’t looked in good shape when she’d left, and she hadn’t stay long enough to find out if Cam was the only one fatally injured. She made her way to a church on Van Ness where the Clave stored one of its weapons caches. It probably wasn’t the best place for her to be, but it was the closest thing to the idea of a sanctuary she could think of. 

When the Centurions got around to checking the weapons cache, they would know she’d been here. She’d have to be long gone when they did.

Her leg was aching. She was lucky, it missed her femoral artery. It felt like the tip of the arrow might have cracked her bone, but it hadn’t shattered it. She wouldn’t have been able to set that herself otherwise. Now, it was just unbearably sore and she was limping heavily. The blood soaking her jeans was cold, turning crusty with rust as it dried. She was disheveled, her braid falling out, grimy from battle. She probably looked like either a demon or half chewed up road kill.

After resupplying her weapons, and adding half a dozen steles to her backpack, she cut off her pant legs. She did the best she could to clean up in an old janitorial closet. God, she missed Julian.

She thought back to when they had said goodbye to each other: Everything was the pain of an exposed nerve.

The wind blew through Julian’s hair. It had grown long enough for the light breeze to tousled it into chocolate curls. She was jealous of the wind—it’s freedom to touch and caress him, while for her, it had become taboo.

Her hands clenched into fists. Julian knew what she wanted. He unfisted her palm and interlaced her fingers with his, and she breathed an involuntary sigh of relief. Such a simple thing, to hold hands.

They needed to do this because of the curse, but she was so very tempted make her own type of logic. He was her anchor—everything that kept her together when her parents died, when her world fell apart. Now their world was falling apart, again, for both of them. How were they supposed to never see each other again? Being separated from him was its own kind of madness.

That was a hole, a chasm as deep as the loss of Livvy. It was like giving up hope.

They didn’t know how to say goodbye to each other. There was too much raw agony. “You’re leaving, and if this works with Jem I don’t know how long it will be before I can see you again,” he finally said. “I need certain promises from you, Emma.”

“Anything,” she whispered. It was the hardest thing she’d ever done, the hardest battle she ever faced, but this was worse for him.

Anything and everything she would give to him if she could.

He placed her palm on his chest and she felt his heartbeat beneath her fingertips. _Break it to pieces_ , he’d said. She didn’t want that. She wanted to be the glue that held the pieces of his heart together.

“We share information. We agree not to hide anything else from each other. No more lies,” he exhaled the last out, a cathartic absolution for what she’d done, but also an expectation of what he wouldn’t tolerate from her again. “No matter how brutal the truth is. We’re in this together. So, we’ll fight through this together even while we’re apart. No more trying to protect each other with lies. I can’t stand that from you. Not again. It’s only truth between us now. Understand.”

She did and she’d promised.

“You can’t do anything crazy like go off on your own to Faerie to hunt down the King or Annabel. When you go, I go. If we’re doomed anyway it might as well happen in enemy lands.”

She nodded, even though she didn’t like it. He was as much as admitting to the possibility that the curse might catch them before they found a way out of it. Julian _never_ thought like that, but with Livvy’s death he was as broken as the Mortal Sword. She didn’t even know if her love was strong enough to hold all the pieces together, and that scared her.

“Stay away from the Council until we know what’s going on. They won’t forgive you for destroying the Soul Sword, and I didn’t like the way the Iron Sisters were eyeing Cortana.” She knew that too.

“You have to promise to take care of yourself. I want Cristina— “

She shook her head. “No. If I can’t be here to take care of you, then I want her here to watch over you. Mark needs her now, too.”

For once bringing up Mark’s name didn’t seem to anger Jules. “And Tavvy—” she stopped, not knowing what to say. “He likes her,” Emma finished lamely.

“Do I get promises of my own?” she had asked him. She moved into the circle of his arms and simply enjoyed his closeness, his warmth. He sort of didn’t smell the same. Cloves with no paint or coffee. Stale sweat, with maybe something of the Silent City lingering on him. Maybe it was the smell of grief. He hadn’t showered and was in borrowed clothes once again. Dark circles pooled beneath his eyes, the shadow of not having shaved recently changed how he looked—so much older. He was still her Jules, but different now. She wanted her love to wash him clean and restore him.

Even love couldn’t fix everything.

“What?” he asked hoarsely, running his fingers lightly through her hair.

She took a deep breath. “You don’t blame yourself for what happened with Livvy.”

Luminous wide eyes stared at her. He looked like a scared little boy. “If I knew how to do that, Ems, I’d make you that promise. But, I don’t know how. It was my plan—it’s on me.”

She sighed, letting that breath go. She hadn’t expected him to say anything different. “Then promise me you’ll do your best. Livvy wouldn’t want you to torture yourself this way. I know that. She’d want you to be whole. To be able to help Ty and the others,” and this was most important to her, “And for you to let them help you, too.”

“Emma, you’re leaving—ripping the other half of my soul away. I’ll never be whole.” He bent and gave her the lightest of kisses on her lips, a tiny seal of their oaths and promises. Ones adding onto the promises they’d made to each other as _parabatai_. To always love each other, to always be there for each other—even while thousands of miles apart.

She shook herself awake from the memory.

She was nearing the crash after an adrenaline rush, knowing how awful it felt—like withdrawal from a hundred cups of coffee at once. It left her shaky and weak, worse even than the feeling of used up energy runes meeting the flu. She needed to be holed up someplace safe when that happened.

Crossing through the nave, she decided on the balcony as her safe space. It had multiple exits out to the roof and she knew this neighborhood. It wouldn’t be pleasant if they tracked her here, but it would be manageable. Her phone vibrated a low rumbled tone and the last row of parishioners for early morning mass turned and looked in her direction. She swiped to answer and ducked up the stairs. Climbing was an insult to her leg. She needed to rest it, while it healed.

“What the hell happened?” It was Julian. Of course he knew she was all right now, but for a few minutes there, it had been dicey.

“Zara and her Centurion thugs decided they’d try to arrest me.”

“You were supposed to be out of sight,” he added irritably. “You’re away now? What happened? You were hurt.”

“Can you feel where I was hurt, Julian?” she asked softly, testing him. Testing their bond.

“In your leg was the main pain, at least physically. But, there’s something else. Like when you used to wake up from the nightmares of your parents drowning. Panic maybe. What’s scared you?” His voice was tense.

It was far too much for him to know, especially from that far away. She didn’t like that he could _feel_ her emotions like that. Some things should be private.

Her heart clenched. By the Angel, how was she supposed to tell him everything about tonight? Being hunted by the Centurions seemed the least of her problems. She very much wanted to lie to him and tell him: _Of course, tomorrow Jem will perform the ceremony of exile, and it will be really hard being away from each other, but we’ll be fine for the foreseeable future._

But she promised him the truth and he needed to be warned. He might have even felt the pull of power she’d used to heal Cameron. God, the Centurions and the Silent Brother had seen it. She didn’t know how much time they had and she had no clue what to do next.

“You’re panicking again,” he said in the softest of tones. It was a dangerous tone that warned her he would figure out how to build a portal himself to get to her if she said she needed him. She shivered at the thought. Clary could do that—was it something they were capable of now, too? Just how far could their combined power go?

It felt like jumping off a cliff into the swirling tempest of ocean waves to tell him, but she did. She told him everything about her meeting with Jem and how he couldn’t help them, how the Centurions planted a trap for her that she almost fell into, and of how she healed Cameron. She felt weird talking to Julian about Cameron—like she was somehow being disloyal to him.                  

If she had to become an Iron Sister, it would kill a part of her soul, but she’d do it. But, not if it meant giving Julian to the Silent Brothers. She wasn’t ready to give up hope for them yet, and Jem’s way felt like giving up the fight. 

She’d been unwilling to consider using the Seelie Queen’s offer and the Black Volume to eradicate the magic of all parabatai bonds for the sake of others, like Jace and Alec, Clary and Simon and countless others. But, knowing what she did now—it changed the calculation of things. She hated how tempted she was. She hadn’t had enough time to think through all the possibilities.

He was quiet on the other end for a long time, but she could practically hear those gears working in his Machiavellian mind.

“So, the Silent Brother, he saw you? He knows?”

“Yes,” she paused over the lump forming in her throat.  “And…Zara rifled through your private studio too. I cut the canvases from the frames, put everything together and have it with me now, but I don’t know if anything is missing. She’ll use that as an argument against us with the Clave. But, I think the Silent Brothers and Iron Sisters are who we have to worry about.”

“You still have the charm Magnus gave you, so they can’t track you?” How could he sound so calm?

“They’ll find a way, Julian. I’m more worried about you right now. You’re a sitting duck at the Praetor House.”

“Where are you now?” he asked, practical as ever.

“At one of the churches. I raided a weapons cache and I’m crashing in the balcony out of sight for right now.”

“Tell me you’re not stocking up to go on a mission by yourself to the Unseelie Court to single handedly try to kill Annabel and the King and find the Black Volume.” This was the second time he’d mentioned it. Maybe he was more worried about her recklessness than she thought. She’d given him her promise, though.

“The plan has merits,” she insisted. “One of them being that I’ll be in Faerie. Julian, listen, even with us being separated across the country we can still feel each other. It’s like the bond is getting stronger and if it is, that means the curse is only getting closer. Tonight, I felt you through the bond when I healed Cam. Didn’t you feel it, feel something?”

“I tried to send you energy,” he admitted. “I wasn’t sure it worked—I have no idea how any of this is supposed to work.”

“It scared me. Maybe if I’m in Faerie that will be enough distance. And it’s not like I’m going to Edom. It makes sense,” she tried. Maybe she could convince him of reason.

“No, it doesn’t.” He was very firm on that. “Not by yourself—it be a suicide mission.” She heard the emptiness over the phone line as if he’d just realized what he said.

“I wouldn’t do that Jules, I wouldn’t ever _try_ to get myself killed,” she said softly. “No one will expect me to sneak in on my own. I’ll have the element of surprise and I can be sneaky, like a mouse.”

“You’re not a mouse, Emma. You’re the lion that eats the mice. You can’t leave,” he joked trying to hide the hint of desperation in his voice. “Who will save me from the Silent Brothers?”

She knew he was so terribly scared of losing her too, so it was very hard for her to say what came next. “If I’m gone far enough away, maybe they won’t come after you?” She was losing grasp of this conversation fast. She needed him to agree with her, tell her it was okay for her to go, and to forgive her for whatever happened on the other side of Faerie.

“Your right,” he said. “You need to go to Faerie, but so do I. The Clave can’t follow us there and if we have a chance of going mad it’s better to have that happen in the Unseelie Court.”

“I don’t think it works that way,” she said.

“You swore an oath to me Emma,” he said playing his trump card. “ _For whither thou goest, I will go_. I won’t stop you from going. Like I said I think your right and you need to, but it will be with me.”

She closed her eyes and tapped her foot not knowing what she could say to change his mind.

“Listen, we need to go soon,” he said. “Can you give me another day. I need to settle some things here with everybody.”

“Julian, you can’t leave your family now. They need you too much,” she tried.

“Can I stay with them though, if I’m a danger to them? Will I even have warning of the curse or will I not know it until I’ve harmed them? And that’s if I can avoid the Silent Brothers. There may be another way to break the bond than what the Seelie Queen is offering. I’m willing to look for that, if you help me. _Please_ , Ems.”

The offer to look for another way was what tipped the scale for her, but she still felt disagreeable. “Fine.”

“Promise me, Emma. Swear to me.”

“All right. I swear on the Angel. I’ll wait for you and we’ll go together. Keep yourself safe though. You promise me that,” she said.

“Done. And, Emma please listen to me very carefully. Jem may be a Carstairs and a relative of yours but he’s been a Silent Brother a century longer than you’ve been alive. We really don’t know anything more about him than he showed up for your parabatai ceremony.”

“I’d thought the same thing,” she admitted. “But, he did help me get away from the Centurions, so that’s got to count for something.”

“You still think we can trust him?”

She’d been thinking about that question a lot. “I _do_ think he wants to help us, I’m just worried the only help he’s offering is to personally escort us into the Orders.”

She heard Julian curse under his breath. “It’s what saved his life a long time ago, it’s probably what he believes can save ours, but I’m not willing to chance your life on that. If they lock us up, it will be game over. I think we’re the ones that are meant to find the Black Volume and we can’t do that if we’re in the Cloisters. And there would be no way to search for a way out of this _parabatai_ mess either. They’ve had centuries to fix this problem, and if they couldn’t do it in that time, then the answer isn’t with them.”

“Okay,” she agreed. She had hoped for more from Jem, but she couldn’t fault Julian’s logic. Magnus, at least still seemed willing to help.

“Stay where you are, out of sight. Keep your phone charged. I’ll call you soon. Em, I do have some ideas, let me see what pans out, alright?”

_I love you_. She felt the thought surge through her, through their bond. It whispered between them unsaid on a wave of tender thoughts.

***

Julian hurled his phone against the wall. It shattered on impact into a thousand tiny pieces. Maybe the Sim card wasn’t damaged too, but he wasn’t hopeful. It was like everything else in his life. Demolished. Crushed to jagged shards, razored splinters slicing away at his wrecked soul.

He picked up the mess, brushing against the superfine glass slivers from the phone screen. Tiny glass thorns embed themselves into his bitten down swollen fingertips and he hissed at the bright pain. Emma sometimes dealt with emotional pain by allowing herself to be hurt—like a distraction or an outward manifestation. He’d endured her pain and watched it because there were times nothing else helped.

When Julian was younger, in those first months after the Dark, he would have panic attacks.  There was a realization, an understanding of how desperate his life had become: his entire family’s welfare fell to him, including Arthur, the pressure of finding a way to run the Institute, hiding away all his secrets, so no one would suspect.

He would wait until after Ty was tucked in with Livvy (back then her presence would help Ty fall asleep), before Tavvy would wake from his night terrors which were almost as regular and clockwork as Emma’s. He would lock himself in his bathroom and allow himself to feel the full force of the panic and terror of everything he was up against. He would throw up, shaking and sweaty, heaving his guts in a deluge of bile and disgust over a toilet.

It was there Emma would find him. He had hated her seeing him like that.

Before they were even _parabatai_ , before he tied her to him—even then, she would know he needed her. 

She would bring him wet washcloths cooling the back of his neck, his forehead. “I’m here Julian, whatever you need, I’m here for you,” she’d whisper as she stroked his back. “Together we can take care of the kids, together we can do anything.” She’d rest her head on his naked back, her skin against his, her hair a living creature caressing him. He’d shiver and she’d wrap her arms tighter around him thinking he was cold. She was reassurance. She was a promise.

He knew he loved her then, and he buried those feelings as deep as he could, for as long as he could, because his brothers and sisters’ lives were more important than his own.

Back then the worst that could happen was having the Clave take the kids from him. That threat seemed wholly inconsequential now.

_Livvy was dead_.

It had been his idea to bring Annabel to the meeting. The fact his careful plans fell apart was completely on him. He would have gladly paid the price for that mistake with his own life, but it hadn’t been his own life, it had been Livvy’s.

_Livvy was dead._

_He’d been covered in her blood, slick in his hands as he smoothed back her hair from her eyes. He begged her to open them—he just needed her to open her eyes so he knew that she was okay._

She wasn’t, and there was nothing he could do to fix that. Well, maybe there was, but in the same way he pushed down his thoughts of how he loved Emma, he buried these other ones too, until they were far enough down to be out of reach. For all his skills as a liar, he could pretend with himself that they weren’t there. But they were.

It had been a long time since he felt so out of control, leading him the place where fear ruled. Terror was a friend: unwelcomed but familiar.  He felt it at the Accords Hall when the Endarkened had broken through and he saw the demon wearing his father’s face. There was a point where he submitted to that terror, knowing they were all going to die, and in that one brief moment, there had been nothing left to fear. He promised himself he would never go back there.

Crossing that line was almost as scary as the panic. Once he passed that edge it was a space of cold calm, a void where ruthlessness knew no mercy. If he went there again, he wasn’t sure he could come back. Not to mention what that would mean with the _parabatai_ curse breathing down his neck.

And it was weird—this knowledge he had of this dark unexplored space inside of himself. It was something he had experience of; without an understanding of when or how. He rubbed the sea glass bracelet, a physical connection to Emma when she wasn’t near, anchoring him away from the void.

The worst had happened. He was still here and Livvy wasn’t. And the cold was freezing the terror to numbness, and he was glad. But there were worse things still on the horizon. He’d thought he understood. He hadn’t. Not until that phone call with Emma. Now he did. His Emma—what the Clave would do to her, make her become if they could.

There was the familiar pull of desperation: The Clave was against them, the Silent Brothers would be hunting them soon if not already, they were enemies of the Unseelie King and probably still had six Riders hunting down the family—and there weren’t any good options in sight. He couldn’t see a way to make this work, to keep his family safe. The only remote answer for help lay with the Black Volume and the Seelie Queen. For some reason, Annabel thought the Black Volume belonged to the Blackthorns and obviously his father knew something or he wouldn’t have taken the book with him to the Los Angeles Institute in the first place. Magnus said it was tied to her and most importantly it had the spell that could undo their bond.

It was the only rational thought left to him.

Alec strode through the doorway and looked at the broken pieces of his phone. “These things should have warning labels around Shadowhunters.”


	8. Friends

“You’re upset. Let’s burn off some energy,” Alec cajoled Julian into the Lupus training hall. Werewolves weren’t so different from Shadowhunters when it came to practice rooms—lots of space only with less weapons. Werewolves and vampires used their bodies instead: claws, teeth and brutal strength. Until Mark had come back, Julian hadn’t had many practices with other men. There had only been Diana and Emma.

“Jace used to beat me up all the time,” Alec said stretching out. “Use up some of that energy. I hear you’re pretty good. You have to be to keep up with Emma.”

Alec was like Julian in that they both gravitated toward archery and bows, easier to protect and give cover to the mutually respective reckless _parabatai_. That did not mean he wasn’t proficient at every other aspect of fighting and to be able to hit something might be good thing.

They loosened up for a couple hours of practice at hand to hand. Punch, block, slam—roll with hit and come back up fighting. Knuckles split and his body bruised from the occasional strike, Julian was impressed with how good Alec was. Alec had a half a decade experience on him and trained every day with the annoyingly legendary Jace Herondale. Julian didn’t want to hear any more about how he was the greatest Shadowhunter of his generation. He gave Emma something to aspire to, and Julian tucked every one of his jealousies into the next punch. Julian didn’t need to worry about pulling punches with Alec—he could let go.

After another hour of staff training, it felt like all the fighting had turned his body to autopilot. He twirled the iron rod, the motions and a dazzling speed of beauty. In a coordinated routine of stretching muscles, waltzing feet, rotating wrists. His blood pumped a ferocious echo in his ears and he let go of his control and submitted to the unconscious dance of battle. He somehow missed a step and felt a thwack against his back, the full body vibration of a brutal blow. There was no thought after that, only reaction.

Blinking back sweat from his eye, his bicep muscles burned in a way that warned him that he was pushing too hard. He didn’t care. Wherever there was a contact or a threat he let himself go to the lethal reaction of putting it down. It felt glorious to be free in this way. Nothing else mattered, as this rhythm of violence settled over him.

That was until he was thrown across the room hitting the concrete wall with enough force that if he’d been a mundane it probably would have meant instant death with a hundred broken bones.

He blinked a few times, confused. He blinked a few more times as the ceiling came into focus and heard himself groan as he rolled over to see Alec on the ground. Mark was on one side of him, stele in hand drawing runes, Magnus on the other.

Julian tried to get up, but Helen was before him blocking him, a sword pointed at his throat. The odd thought surfaced that he’d never seen her before in battle. Small and lithe she was as deadly as any Shadowhunter, also graced with the speed of a faerie. He remembered that from when she practiced with him when he’d first begun his training. She was glaring at him in disapproval. It gave him a moment of vertigo. It was like his brain couldn’t quite catch up with the fact that his sister was there, and that she raised her weapon against him.

Then his mind cleared and a different kind of horror washed through him.

“Settle down, brother,” she said with a firmness that reminded him of how bossy she used to be. Normally it had been to reign in childhood shenanigans, a lecture in not dying the cat blue, or a firm admonishment to never give Dru a haircut again, or exasperation when he continued to sketch on the Institute walls after being forbidden. This was something else.

They faced off with each other, the chasm that divided the boy she’d once known and who he was now was so unfathomable it sparked a fear in his mind. “Alec? Is he okay?”

There was a long unreadable look between Helen and Magnus, but he nodded. “He will be fine,” she said.

Mark glided next to her. He hadn’t been at the practice yard, someone must have called him. He felt Mark clap a hand on his shoulder, with the other he helped Julian to stand. He loosened his limbs checking to see if there was any damage or broken bones—he was surprised there were none.

Alec wasn’t hurt badly enough that he wasn’t able to stand up. He loped over to Julian. Magnus was with him, giving Julian a too serious look—he felt his cheeks flushed, ashamed at whatever he’d done. Magnus must have been the one to fling him away from Alec. He was instantly sorry, both for hurting Alec, and for Magnus’ need to use his already drained warlock strength to protect him.

Alec didn’t look good. He’d taken a hard beating and Julian hated to admit it, but if Magnus hadn’t interfered he might have killed Alec. No wonder his cat eyes were frowning at Julian. The threat of the curse starting to come true pounded as a possibility in the back of his mind.

Emma had warned him. He’d thought they had a stop gap in place to give them a little bit of time with the exile. But, he couldn’t risk falling into that kind of uncontrolled violence again. Not with Tavvy or the other kids around. He screwed his eyes shut, just wanting to block it all out.

“Helen, Mark give me a couple minutes with Julian, ok?” Alec asked while drawing another iratze on his inner arm. Alec mopped off a run of blood on the side of his face as if it were a normal part of practice. His eye was swollen too.  A long looked passed between him and Helen. Sometimes Julian forgot they were the same age now, that they’d fought together at the Battle of the Burren and Brocelind Plain during the Mortal War. Somewhere in Julian’s mind Helen stopped ageing when she left. He kept expecting her to be eighteen again. She nodded, deferring to Alec’s judgement, which Julian thought quite stupid and led Mark off. Magnus followed.

Julian was still riding high from adrenaline and something else. “I’m sorry,” Julian mumbled. “I let my emotions get away from me. That was a tactical mistake.”

Alec barked with an unexpected laugh. “You obviously haven’t spent enough time around Jace if you think _that_ is the definition of letting your emotions get away from you.”

Alec paused collecting his thoughts—or gearing up for something. Julian felt himself stiffen as his stomach curled in anticipation at whatever this ‘talk’ was supposed to be about. “Fighting in the last two wars, on Edom—that was hard. Sometimes fighting demons now seems too easy in comparison. This wasn’t easy, and maybe I forgot what that was like.”

“You’re a good fighter. Really good. Emma has the reputation, but you fly under the radar. With her being your _parabatai_ you have to be as good as her. I might know something about what that’s like,” he gave Julian a quirky, reassuring grin. “Look, I brought you out here because, well—“ Alec paused, suddenly looked uncomfortable. “People are going to tell you they understand what you’re going through, and it’s the worst thing to hear. But, in this case, I think I do. I lost my brother Max when he was only a little older than Tavvy. We left him alone in a house with Sebastian and he killed him.”

Alec face turned stony, the blue eye that hadn’t swollen shut hardened at a memory clearly haunting him. It had been five years for him, but Julian could tell he still grieved. Maybe he had learned to live with it, but his world had been changed as much as Julian’s.

“When we found Max’s body, he was clutching this little toy soldier that Jace had given him. It was strange how seeing that soldier broke us. The fact that we weren’t there to protect him, should have been there, and it was all he could hold onto when he died.”

“Are you going to tell me it’s not my fault?” Julian whispered.

“Blame is a game full of what ifs that no one can change. You’re human so you’ll play it, but you can’t let it drag you down—there’s too much else going on. Look, a Council meeting _should_ have been a safe place. A room filled with Shadowhunters, in the heart of Idris? Annabel shouldn’t have even been able to do it. _Everybody_ was blindsided. My dad had decades more experience at fighting: battles and politics, and he died too.”

Julian felt like an ass. When Robert had died, Julian’s foremost thought was how his death wrecked his plans with Emma and the scrambled rush to find an alternative. He hadn’t even given the most basic condolences, because Alec had lost his father too.

Alec had stepped up to help his family, arranging their safety here, never stopping doing what needed to be done, all the while dealing with his father’s death.  And here the other man was trying to offer him comfort. His own father had been Julian’s best guidance and he understood what it felt like to have that ripped away—to be suddenly alone in the world. Alec was years older, a father himself and Julian imagined it was probably just as hard for him now. Maybe there wasn’t even a difference at what age or stage of life that kind of loss happened at.

“I’m sorry,” Julian said sincerely, but maybe he could give Alec something small. “It might surprise you to know that Emma and I found ourselves on the outside of some of the Clave laws.”

Alec snorted at that. “I might have found myself there a time or two as well.”

“Before the meeting, we’d gone to your dad—as Inquisitor.” Julian felt that carefulness unfurl. Emma said the Silent Brothers already knew and their secret was out to the Clave, but he couldn’t break the almost compulsion to keep that secret—even though Alec would know soon enough. If not from Magnus than from the Clave itself. “We told him some things. He listened and was willing to help us. I’m sorry he’s gone now too.”

Alec looked at him like he’d grown two heads. “Why the hell would you _confess_ anything to the Inquisitor?” Julian didn’t fall for the prompt and Alec mumbled to himself, “Nevermind.”

“That means something. He was in the Circle with Valentine when he was younger. I know he understood the mistakes he made and was always trying to find a way back to redemption for the worse things he’d done in his life. I know he wasn’t a saint, but when the scales are balanced I hope he landed on the side of good. I appreciate it, but I wanted to talk to you about Livvy.”

Julian became dangerously still.

“When Max died we all dealt with it differently. Mom and dad—they couldn’t even be around each other, ended up finally getting a divorce. Jace, he’d practice sixteen hours a day—just to work off that extra energy, and even then I’m not sure it really helped. Isabelle, she locked herself in her room for days on end and started cavorting with a vampire,” he cringed. “The things I walked in on—ugh!”

“And you, what did you do?” Julian didn’t really want to know the details of Isabelle and Simon’s love life. He was jealous they were getting their own kind of happily ever after and with his so out of reach Julian didn’t want to hear it.

“I spent a lot of my time with Magnus. Being a warlock, he’s lived enough lifetimes to understand how fragile and fleeting mortality is. And how tragic. We are given the gift to love, but to do that also means we experience loss. Being a Shadowhunter is hard, Julian. You know this better than most because of your father and what you saw and had to do in the Dark War. Our lives are _always_ at risk and we die.” He was subdued. “There are no right answers. It’s painful. When you can’t stand it come to me and we’ll do another round, or read a story to Tavvy, or chase a demon with Emma. God, there was so much I wanted to teach Max,” he said regretfully. “He’d be about the twins age now and I sent a prayer for him to watch over Livvy.”

Julian felt the tears welling and turned his head away so Alec couldn’t see. But, Alec was right he did understand enough of Julian to return the Praetor House and leave him to cry out his own grief in solitude.

***       

Emma stared for a long time at the lit candles. Church was something that crossed over to not only Nephilim, but Downworlders and mundanes too. Every culture had prayer as a common thread and understood the need to ask for help or give thanks to a higher power at some point. Cristina would approve. She’d lit one candle for Livvy and sat in the quiet trying to collect her thoughts. Then she lit one for Ty because she couldn’t stop thinking of Ty when she thought of Livvy. From there each one of the Blackthorns, plus Cristina got their own candle. She saved the one for Julian last.

Her phone vibrated again. She looked at caller id. It was Clary—not quite a direct answer from an Angel, but good enough. Pushing back tears she answered.

“Please tell me this is not a Centurion stealing Clary’s phone to plot yet another trap?”

“What?” Clary asked confused. “Emma, is that you?”

Emma sagged with relief. “You made it safely back from the Seelie Court,” Emma said. “I’m glad.”

“Jace and I were with the Seelie Queen watching the Clave meeting through her scrying glass. Emma, I’m so very sorry about Livvy.”

“Me too,” she whispered.

“Can we talk? Tell me where you are and I’ll come find you.”

Every alarm bell sung through Emma. “Clary, Cameron just did this. And when I met him there were a dozen Centurions there to arrest me—bring me into the Clave for questioning.”

“ _What?_ ” Clary asked shocked. _“_ That doesn’t make any sense. Only an Inquisitor can do that and Robert hasn’t been replaced.”

“I broke the Mortal Sword, I don’t think they’re in the mood to forgive me for that.” She turned over in her mind what she wanted to say to Clary. “There are a lot of other things too, Clary. Julian and I—we are in so much trouble.”

“Do you believe I would do that to you, betray you to the Clave?” Clary asked with a seriousness that made Emma flinch. Was she becoming _that_ paranoid?

“I was with Jem tonight. He was with me when I had to fight the Centurions. He said he’d take me into custody, turn me over to the Silent Brothers,” could Clary hear how betrayed Emma felt as she swiped away another round of tears on her sleeve. She sniffed loudly and winced that Clary could probably hear that too.

“He’s not a Shadowhunter anymore, but he still has close ties with the Brotherhood,” Clary allowed. “They could keep you safe.”

She laughed bitterly. “He wants to hand me over to the Iron Sisters so they can turn me into one of them.”

“ _What_? Emma that makes _no_ sense. _”_

“Yes, it does,” she said wearily. “There are a lot of things you don’t know.”

“I won’t betray you to the Clave, Emma. I would never do that. If you don’t want me to come, I won’t, we can just keep talking on the phone, for as long as you need to. About anything.”

Emma took a deep breath suddenly feeling very foolish. “If you portal to L.A. is there a way for the Clave to follow you?”

“You’re in L.A.,” Clary asked surprised. “I thought you were with Julian and the other Blackthorns at the Praetor House.”

Emma sat up straighter. “Who knows that they’re there?” she asked in near panic.

“Alec is there, with Magnus. So, he told Jace. I know they’re keeping a tight lid on that because of Mark and Helen.”

“And me?”

“Jace is still waiting to hear any updates from Jia, we just got back—Faerie time is worse than crossing time zones,” and it was Clary’s turn to be bitter. “But, Maellartach was supposed to be indestructible, so I don’t understand how you, how Cortana did it? With Robert and Livvy dead everyone is taking a deep breath. They won’t bother the Blackthorns, I don’t think, for a while.”

“If you’re willing to come Clary, I could really use a friend,” she whispered. “Oh, and can you bring me a change of clothes?”

***

Julian supposed he was glad he hadn’t broken out in a rash of warts as payback for hurting Alec. Magnus looked terrible. In the few days since they’d been together he’d lost a lot of weight, enough for his outrageous clothes to hang too loose on his frame. Black smudges like charcoal smeared beneath his sunken eyes. Even the gleam of his golden green cat eyes seemed dulled. Deep set lines of what Julian thought was wrinkles set into his forehead, around his grim mouth.

t was as if whatever this warlock sickness was, it was causing him to age, and quickly. Now he looked to be in his fifties and the silver strands of hair mixing with the inky blackness of his natural hair color didn’t help matters. The magic he’d used to stop Julian had cost him. Julian was very sorry for that.

The warlock was on edge, and Julian had the overwhelming sense that Magnus knew what Jem had told Emma.

Julian’s head was clearer now, and he had a loose idea of his options now. He would need Magnus’ help, though. “Is Jace back with Clary?” he asked.

Magnus’ eyebrows rose. “They portaled back from Faerie earlier tonight.”

Julian nodded. “I need them to come here tomorrow. With Isabelle, and Simon, and Lily Chen from the Vampire Clan. Can you make those arrangements?”

“I can and I will. I will even be so gracious to not ask questions, but I saw what happened with Alec.”

“It was you that threw me up against that wall. You used magic when you’re still too weak. I’m sorry for losing control with Alec.” Julian may be bowed down with self-doubts, but he hoped Magnus didn’t see it. “Is it the beginning of the curse then?”

“Or, it could be the stress you are under, the fact you’ve just lost your sister, your family is wrecked, your _parabatai_ is gone, and the Clave is probably going to want to ask you some very uncomfortable questions soon.”

Julian laughed bitterly. “You’ve done a good job summarizing my life. Are you sure you got everything?”

“You’re homeless, don’t have a guardian—oh and the Riders may still be coming for you.               “

Magnus banter was easy and for a moment Julian relaxed. “Anything you can do with the wave of your hand to fix it all.”       

“Sadly, I am not God. If I were there would be far more glitter and accessorizing in the world. I’ve been told Emma had an eventful night as well.”

Julian nodded his agreement. “I know that from the mundane magic of cell phones, not from the _parabatai_ bond. Phone call or fire message—Jem I presume?”

Magnus nodded. “Calls allow one to converse back and forth. Secret told, I do prefer them over the fire message, but never tell that to the other warlocks.”

“How much did he tell you?” Julian asked.

“He told me the Exile ceremony will do you little good now.”

“Should I be expecting the Silent Brothers to be invading the Praetor House?” He meant it ask it lightly, but he was strummed too tight with tension. He was sure Magnus saw it.

“Do you believe Jem would that to you?” Magnus asked carefully.

“I don’t know. I don’t know him at all. He may be willing to help Emma because she is the last Carstairs, but he doesn’t owe me or my family anything,” Julian said truthfully.

Magnus frowned, but seemed willing to listen.

“You know Jia swore to me that the Clave would never stop trying to get my brother back from the Hunt, and a few days later she was tallying the vote to abandon him, and sending my sister into exile. Malcolm, well, he was the only one willing to help me with Arthur, but that was all a subterfuge so he could get close enough to murder my family. I promised Annabel a level of protection based on you being at the Council meeting with us—and though it was no fault of your own, you weren’t there. I find myself very short on trust. And because of what I know of the curse, I have to wonder if what I’m feeling is even real.” It was hard to admit these things to Magnus, but also a relief.

“I think that if you even have the wisdom to ask that question means that you still have time.” Magnus was absently stroking his chin, deep in thought. “Rest assured, Jem spoke to Brother Enoch on your behalf. He didn’t tell him where you were, and argued in these situations, it is better if you turn yourselves in—there is less bloodshed that way. It will buy you time, but not much,” Magnus said.

“Do you know how much?” Julian asked candidly. He needed to plan and a time frame would be nice.

“No, I’m sorry.”

“Okay, thank you for your honesty. I have something for you,” he reached into his back pocket and pulled out some folded sheets of paper. It was a good thing he printed them out earlier. “When I talked with Annabel, the book was open. I was able to get pictures of a few pages on my phone—it’s not much, but I’d like you to tell me what this says.”

“These spells are in your phone?” Was he horrified or impressed as he took the sheets from Julian as if handling a rattlesnake.

“It’s not like I’m posting them online for the world to see. Besides my phone has seen better days. Ask Alec.”

“Hhhmmph.”

“I don’t know what they say, don’t even recognize the language, and I need you to tell me—and as you say, I may be pressed for time. Can you do it?”

“I’m not sure I have much of a choice.”

“Let me ask you this, does the Unseelie King need a warlock to perform these spells or can he do it himself?”

“That is a tricky question. Warlock and Fae magic are not the same. Substitutions can be made with varying degrees of success. Or, are what you really asking me is if the King can start using the book immediately, or if he needs a warlock?”

“Or Annabel. You said she was somehow tied to it’s magic. I don’t think they were in league together; she would have turned the book over right away to him if she were. I think the fact he took her in the middle of a Council meeting while she held the Mortal Sword means he was afraid she would tell the Clave his true name, and he couldn’t risk it.”

“What you say makes sense,” he said, staring with loathing at the pages.

“Can you even identify the language?” Julian prompted his attention back. “It’s important, Magnus.”

Magnus’ shrewd eyes jumped up to Julian’s. “Yes. Yes, I know this language,” he sounded resigned. “Is there something in particular that you’re looking for?”

Normally he would never trust another for help. Already Magnus had failed him by not being with Annabel at the meeting, so it was doubly bitter, this need to ask or rely on someone else for help. But, he couldn’t ignore Emma’s warning, the looming curse, or his need to keep his family safe.

“I’m looking for a way to break the _parabatai_ bond. If I give the Seelie Queen the book, she says she can break the _parabatai_ bond and free me and Emma.”

Magnus gave a low whistle. “The Fae are tricksters, especially her. You cannot trust them to—“

“The price,” Julian interrupted, “is that it will eradicate the magic of every _parabatai_ bond the Shadowhunters have. It would break them _all_. There would be no more _parabatai_.”

Magnus’ mouth fell open in disbelief. “Well… It is not often I am left speechless.” He hesitated as if afraid to ask. “And you are considering this?”

“Find me another option, Magnus. And you might want to do it before the King does."

Julian didn’t mention how he was almost rooting for the King.


	9. Light and Ice

Emma flew to Clary, giving her a desperate hug. Being hugged by Clary was like being wrapped in sunshine. She felt herself slump into her friend’s arms as if all the tenterhooks of fear pulling at her like a marionette had been cut.

“Oh, Emma,” she whispered sadly rubbing gentle and reassuring circles on her back. Emma couldn’t stand the sympathy and burst into tears.

They stayed that way a while as Emma sobbed her heart out. When it seemed like there was finally no more room for tears, Emma spent the next few hours confessing everything. She whispered all her secrets, updating Clary on everything that had happened since she’d been gone.

When she got to explaining how she and Julian had fallen in love, Clary didn’t look at all surprised. Quietly hidden in the balcony of the church, the prayer candles gave off a warm flickering glow. It was different from witchlight, warmer like the golden flames of heavenly fire, and Emma wondered if the other woman was remembering a time when she couldn’t be with Jace either. For a time, their love had been forbidden too.          

“I’m so sorry this happened to you,” Clary said. “Simon—he was new to Nephilim life, we both were. He said he thought he saw something that wasn’t quite right at your _parabatai_ ceremony, but didn’t know enough to say anything to stop it.”

Emma was puzzled. “What did he see?”

“Did you know that for a long time while we were growing up, he was half in love with me? I never felt the same way—it was always just deep friendship for me. When he met Isabelle, I think he finally understood that we were never meant to be that way,” she paused as if considering her next words. “I think he saw that Julian loved you in a way _parabatai_ shouldn’t. Later, when he told me, it worried me. Because, I think I might have seen the same thing in you. Did you always feel like that?” she asked gently.

The thing Emma loved about Clary was that she wasn’t judgmental. She never said, _why did you become_ parabatai _then_ , or _what were you thinking_?

“I don’t know,” Emma admitted. “We were only twelve when we made the decision. I needed to be in L.A. to find out what happened to my parents, and Jia wanted to send me to the Academy. It wasn’t something I could bear—being separated from the Blackthorns. And Julian, he needed me too. He was drowning, trying to take care of all the kids—then Arthur. It made sense at the time, even though it was probably a selfish decision. But, we were just kids. Our hormones hadn’t kicked in,” she tried to joke.

She told Clary of the curse and how it seemed they were doomed and even though Clary couldn’t do anything to fix what was wrong in Emma’s life, she did feel lighter at finally being able to tell someone the truth.

“I keep thinking about how I can’t be with Julian right now, and he needs me more than ever after Livvy,” Emma said.

“It is hard. Helen and Mark are finally with him though. He’s not alone, he’s with his family.”

Emma winced inwardly, wishing she had her own family. Even though she counted Clary and Cristina as the best of friends, she knew she was alone in the world. It wasn’t true when she had Julian, but she didn’t know how long they could last.

“I’ve thought a lot about what you said—about your dreams,” Emma said hesitantly, finally ready to broach a subject that had been bugging her with Clary. “Why do you think you didn’t see what was going to happen to Livvy? Why couldn’t we have been warned?”

“I don’t know,” Clary said in frustration. “I don’t control what I see. If I’d had any thought as to what was going to happen, believe me, I would have warned you.”

“You would have warned me,” Emma said slowly, “but you won’t do the same for Jace and Simon?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Clary asked shocked.

“I think you’re wrong not to tell them,” Emma told her. “How are they going to feel if something happens to you and they think they might have been able to do something to stop it. It’s a crappy thing to do to them. If you die, then at least give them the chance to do everything they can to stop it. You’re acting like a martyr, but you aren’t dead yet, so stop it!” Emma’s voice rose.

Emma didn’t know if a part of her was angry at Clary, or just at the unfairness of the whole world.

“Emma— “Clary started, looking lost.

“Clary, we never got to say goodbye to Livvy. Her last word was ‘Ty’. She wanted to tell him something, but she was gone before ever being able to say it to him. When you watched from the scrying glass did you see how Julian held her, begging her to open her eyes, begging her to know that he was there for her?”

“We saw it,” Clary said in a small voice.

“Jace and Simon, your mother—Isabelle, Luke…Everyone who loves you should have a chance to say their piece to you, just in case. If you die, it won’t matter to you, you’ll be gone. But, what about everybody left behind? It’s not fair to them. You’re stealing away that chance from them, and it’s not right. And it’s not right that you asked me to do this for you. And honestly, I don’t even know what’s going to happen to me, so I’m probably not the most reliable person to depend on.”

Clary said she had faith in Emma to never stop fighting. Emma couldn’t for the life of her understand why Clary was giving up and accepting this dream at face value. Clary was still here, alive and breathing—there was still a chance to change things.

Emma felt a spark of restless energy. She wanted to fight for Clary, defend her, do something.

“Do you know what I would give to be able to tell Julian ‘yes’ if he asked me to marry him?” Emma asked, her heart breaking. “Even if it were only for a little while? I just don’t understand how after everything that you’ve been through with each other that you would let a possible future, _what if,_ derail your happiness. Tell Jace the truth and let him decide.”

Clary paled. Emma wondered if she’d gone too far, been too harsh. They’d never really argued before in their friendship, and Emma hoped she hadn’t crossed an invisible line to disagree with her so vehemently.

Maybe the Emma before Livvy’s death could understand Clary’s logic, and respected her for it—but she was too wrapped up in knowing what the shock of Livvy’s death had done to her family: To be torn so randomly, suddenly gone from them all. Could Clary understand what that was like?

“If your dreams are true then make every last moment here count. You can be with Jace, nothing is stopping you. Revel in it, laugh, cry, scream, have ginormous amounts of sex—but what you are doing right now is living half a life—it’s like you’re already dead.”

“Ginormous amounts of sex?” But Clary was laughing as she embraced Emma in her arms. Emma was always surprised at how tiny Clary was, her spirit seemed so large.

Emma rolled up her jacket to put under her head as she laid down on the old church pew. Their alcove smelled like lemon furniture polish and wax. It was comforting. Her head bumped Clary’s leg.

Her nemesis was exhaustion, and it was finally overtaking her. Sleep tugging her away.

“There was something I wanted to tell you. More, I need to tell you,” Clary said.

“What are you talking about,” Emma mumbled.

“I dream—have visions of new runes. Usually, when they come to me I understand what they are, but this time I have no idea what it means. They only thing I know is that it’s meant for you and Julian.”

Clary reached out to stroke Emma’s hair gently. It reminded Emma of a long-ago mother’s touch. She closed her eyes against the memories even as she thought, _If there’s any way you can hear me mom, please watch over Livvy right now, please don’t let her be alone._  

“Go the sleep, Emma. I’ll watch over you while you do.”

***       

“Julian, I’d speak to you privately.”

Helen had caught him coming out of the shower. He cursed under his breath, and really wished faeries would possess some level of modesty. She threw him a towel. She must have been stalking him.

Mark had given him a head’s up that he’d told Helen about Arthur. “Not about Emma though, I’m leaving that to you.” Julian had appreciated that, but his sister was now very cross with him and he couldn’t blame her. He wouldn’t have changed anything, so it was best just to get this over with. Plus, she probably needed to lecture him about Alec.

He bowed his head and pulled on a pair of sweatpants on under the towel. Maybe she didn’t like being an older sister any more than he liked being a younger brother.              

“You never came to me about Arthur. Did you not trust me?” she asked.

At least she got right to the point.

“You couldn’t have done anything,” he said. “We managed, we were fine.”

“No, you were not,” she exclaimed with a fierceness that surprised him. “None of us were. But, I could have helped—together we might have figured this out. Other arrangements could have been made, Julian. You never had to feel so alone in this.”

He looked at her confused. “Helen, I’m not twelve anymore. I’m sorry you weren’t there, more than I can say, but empty platitudes aren’t going to fix anything. You can’t even— “he stopped himself short from saying what he really wanted to say.

“What? That, I can’t even protect myself from the Clave, how am I to protect you? Is that really what you have believed of me these past few years, that I’m only one more thing for you to worry about?” Her voice lowered, “It was never your responsibility to free me from the Clave’s punishment.”

“We all have our limitations. You can’t fix or help with any of this. You can’t change the Clave, you can’t— “he cut himself off again, his irritation rising. “We’ll manage,” he said.

“What else is going on with you? What else are you hiding? Mark, he wouldn’t talk to me either—am I no longer part of this family. Has the Clave succeeded in its exile of me, and are all my bonds of love broken to you too?” she challenged him.

He paled. “Helen, I never meant for you to feel that way.”

She sighed. “Then talk to me. I don’t know how much more time we’ll have together. We must use what we have to finally be honest with one another.”

Julian carefully hung the towel back on a rack to dry. He wanted more than anything to throw it in the corner, frustrated by everything, but the long-ingrained habit of self-control saved him. He didn’t know how much longer that would work though.

“You’re right. It’s not just you the Clave has in its sights. Emma is in L.A., she went looking for a relative—Jem Carstairs,” he confessed opting for partial truth.

“And Tessa Gray,” Helen added as if she knew something.

He felt his eyebrows rise. “I forgot you knew them, that he helped us in Idris,” he shrugged it off and rubbed the sea glass bracelet—his connection to Emma when she wasn’t here. “Anyway, the Centurions came for her, to bring her into the Clave for questioning. About the Mortal Sword,” he hedged. “She got away, but they won’t stop. Who knew demolishing a mortal instrument would make her persona non-grata?” he tried a wry humor, that fell hopelessly flat.

“Oh, Julian,” Helen whispered in a wealth of sympathy.

“Look, tomorrow there’s going to be a meeting here with the Downworlders. I want you to be there,” he said.

“You are already up to something,” she guessed.

“I am, but I need your help. Do you still have that map, with the ley lines and the blighted circles?’

“I do,” she looked puzzled, as if not willing to give up on pushing him for answers. She went to her brother, and hugged him hard. He stiffened in surprise. She was so much smaller than he remembered. “We will figure this out, Julian. And this time I will be there to help you.”

***       

Helen took Aline’s hands in hers and studied the long fingers, the callouses and the scars. Artists hands.

Aline had taken up ice sculpting as a hobby during the long lonely hours on Wrangel Island. She did not like idle time and filled it with things she’d always wanted to learn. Aline called it a blessing to have the time and freedom to pursue these sorts of passions, without constantly being called away to put out the continuous fires of politics the way her mother had. Aline had been groomed to follow in her mother’s footsteps, prepared to run an Institute, be a Council member or maybe even Consul herself one day.

Choosing Helen meant giving up all those ambitions and aspirations. She thanked Helen every day for it, for Aline hadn’t known the relief she would feel at escaping that predestined life. And Helen believed her.

There had been a time when Aline was carving a gorgeous life size statue of Helen. She was a sight to watch as she wielded the white Seraph blade, a gorgeous warrior in a battle to create something beautiful from raw ice. Aline’s face was fierce in her concentration, belying her delicate features as she bent to work cutting and scraping away pieces of ice.

The ice block had been over seven feet tall, and she worked with focused precision. Ice, like stone was unforgiving and if one took too much off, or in the wrong place, it couldn’t be added back. It was a harsh lesson as Aline worked with bigger and bigger blocks that got whittled down to fractions of the original size. It had taught her wife patience and planning.

They thought the block was a solid, but there had been a slight fault, a crack along the interior. Aline hit it at just the right angle and the entire piece unexpectedly shattered. It reminded Helen of the Mortal Sword. Ice detonated in an explosion and a wickedly sharp shrapnel. A highspeed projectile landed through Aline’s shoulder. The blast and the bleeding knocked her unconscious and if Helen hadn’t been there to apply an iratze and blood replacement runes, she might have died.

Exile took away a lot of her abilities of being a Shadowhunter. She was only one step above being a mundane, but at least she’d retained her ability to draw runes.

The cavern they’d been working in was well below freezing, so the only ice that melted was what Aline’s warm blood melted. Chipped fragments and shards of ice littered everywhere—Helen didn’t understand how she’d remained unscathed with only a few scratches and cuts.

The block was solid, but for that one unseen and devastating fault line. Helen looked at her family now. Livvy’s death was their fault line, especially for Julian. Her earlier conversation with Julian had not been reassuring at all.

“Did you see him fight, Aline? He could have killed Alec,” Helen needed to remind herself of patience when what she really wanted to do was strangle Julian. They’d just returned to their rooms after another excruciating long day.  “I think he could have gone against Jace and bested him too, he is _that_ good.”

“No matter how hard the Dearborns malign Emma, I think she has fairly earned her reputation. I saw her fight Annabel. She might be better than Jace, and your baby brother had to keep up—of course he’s good. Don’t sound so surprised.”

“We need to talk about the Dearborns, the Cohort. We’ve been trying to avoid it, but I don’t think we can any longer. What does your mother say?” Helen finally asked.

Jia Penhallow was at times a difficult topic between Helen and Aline. Helen liked Jia well enough, respected her—but she was in the unenviable position of being in a powerful political situation where Helen was a constant thorn in her side. Helen considered her an ally and was thankful for it, yet she was never entirely certain of Jia’s position. Did she truly believe in the righteousness of defending Helen or merely did it for Aline’s sake? Even so, as Consul, Jia couldn’t show too much favoritism and there were times Helen thought she was overly harsh in her position. How she questioned Annabel was a good example—a Consul wasn’t allowed compassion and that, Helen thought, was a badly needed quality Shadowhunters were in short supply of.

Jia had presided over their marriage and that had been a blessing to have Aline’s parents publicly support their union, but it was because of Helen that Jia had lost Aline. Sometimes Helen wondered if the price of loving her was worth all the hell she was putting her wife through.

Of late, she’d been falling deeper toward the edge of sorrow. Perhaps it was the Faerie in her blood, the seclusion away from anyone else, the prison of the cold and artic life that at times made Helen feel as if she were fading. She didn’t know as much as she would have liked about Faeries and knew it was possible for them on occasion to die of grief, and she’d thought without Aline, a shining light to warm her. If not for her wife, she might have died alone on Wrangel Island.

If that had happened she didn’t even know how long her body would have wasted away before someone bothered to check. She tried to snap herself back from the morbidity of her thoughts, but it wasn’t working. She didn’t think she could take being sent back, not when her family was in this much turmoil. She was glad they performed Livia’s funeral so quickly, or else she probably would have been forbidden from that, too. Her life had become a constant wait for the guillotine to drop.

“She’s very worried,” Aline said. “She practically ordered the Silent Brothers to take us, it was the only way the Council was going to release us. There’s going to be a lot of questions, especially for Julian and Emma. From what she said we should be prepared for Clave blaming Julian for Annabel’s actions and Emma for destroying the Mortal Sword. She said that the Dearborns are floating rumors that Julian has met with the Unseelie King—that Mark helped him, and that he brought Annabel as a secret weapon right into the heart of the Council. And then there is Emma. Do you have any idea how she did it?”

“Cortana is a legendary sword, but the Mortal Sword is supposed to be indestructible,” Helen said. “She wanted to go sooner into the fray, and I held her back. I urged her to wait— “

Aline stopped her with a brief kiss on her mouth. “Don’t do that to yourself, please, Helen.”

“Did you see how the Iron Sisters stared at Emma?” Helen shivered. “This reminds me in the days after the Dark War. I knew there would be prejudices for I am part fey, but it was Mark that sent the message to the Clave warning them of the Faerie involvement with Sebastian. The only reason we were prepared, or that Idris was fortified against the Fae was because of him. He proved his loyalty with that message, still a child—and the Clave abandoned him! I will gladly take on any punishment the Clave wishes to visit upon my family, if only they will leave the others alone. And for me, I fought at the Burrens and next to Jia and you in the Dark War. My greatest crime was surviving those battles. The Inquisitor never allowed me to testify under the Mortal Sword, to affirm my loyalty of the Nephilim, even when I asked. They have no care for the truth, they only care to further their own narrative. And I will not have Julian, Mark, or Emma pay for that.” She was regal and angry and frustrated.

Aline agreed with all these things, but when Helen was in a mood like this she was incredibly hot. Aline threw herself into Helen’s surprised arms, kissing her soft lips. _I love you, and will fight for you, and we may only have moments, and we will use those moments to the fullest_ —her kiss said it all. “No more talk.”

***       

Julian came in carrying Tavvy asleep on his shoulder. He scooched onto the bed next to Ty, holding both his brothers close. His head fell back and whacked the bed frame. He didn’t seem to notice. The notebook, the one Julian had been furiously sketching in with what scarce free time he had, fell open as he settled next to Ty. Curious voyeur that Kit was, he sneaked a peak. It was a quick sketch of Livvy with Tavvy inside a circle of runes.

Kit winced at the memory. Tavvy had been miserable. “I don’t remember mom or dad. Am I going to forget Livvy too?” he asked his older brother with huge round eyes.

“Of course not,” Julian tried to soothe. He was a great actor. “Tell me what you liked doing the most with her?” And Julian would draw in the notebook bringing all of Tavvy’s memories to life. Interspersed were pages of runes. He didn’t recognize most of them. Julian spaced them together intertwining them, live vines of patterns, that made Kit dizzy to look at. He cursed himself for being so nosy to look at it in the first place. It was something private.

Kit moved outside to wait. It was too intimate a moment, and he felt like an intruder. He’d been thinking a lot of Dru lately too. She was so much a part of the family, but she seemed lost in it too. Dru looked a lot like Livvy. Her face was rounder and she was headed for a much filler figure to Livvy’s lithe frame, but they had the same general features—blue green eyes like looking at a picture of a Caribbean Sea and brunette hair in curly, thick waves. There was no question they were sisters, and Kit saw a bit of a ghost of Livvy in her.

Did the Blackthorns see that echo of Livvy when they looked at Dru too, the same way he did?

Also, Dru had the same determination as Livvy. Kit was beginning to think it was a genetic trait of the Blackthorn family. She was every bit as loving and protective—but she was just still so young, and Kit was beginning to feel as protective over her as he did of Ty.

He’d gone to find her once Julian was settled. He told her Julian wanted to see her, even though he hadn’t asked. She slipped into Ty’s room and piled in next to her brothers. Tavvy was asleep on Julian’s chest and he saw Julian open his arms to welcome his sister too. Kit gently closed the door and fell asleep in the hallway outside.


	10. Lynch Pins

They were all huddled into the borrowed pickup truck almost an hour into their drive. They were headed to a farm Maia had recommended. Gently rolling hills of farmland dotted the landscape in a picturesque beauty of rural America he’d never seen before, living most of his life in the concrete sprawl of L.A. It quickly lost its appeal as he was jarred once again when the truck hit another pot hole on the horribly maintained dirt road.

He sat between Diana and Dru. They’d brought Tavvy along and he was in Dru’s lap. Kit got the idea that Julian didn’t want them there with all the new people arriving this morning from New York. Kit asked Alec if Jace was going to be there, and Alec gave him an approving smile that made him think better of having asked the question in the first place.

He hoped they made it there soon.

“Mundanes know why Ty is different, like a medical condition or something?” Dru asked skeptically. “Because that doesn’t sound right.”

“Nothing’s wrong with him,” Kit said. “I told Julian that already. Mundanes call it ‘neurotypical’—it’s just that his brain is wired differently. He thinks differently than other people do.”

“We already knew that,” she said completely unimpressed.

“There are a lot of mundanes like Ty and they, I don’t know—try to connect with each other. Share ideas trying to find ways to make it easier for people like him to interact with the world.”

“I still don’t get it—we’re doing fine on our own,” she insisted.

“Dru, Ty needs help right now. This is a good idea. Julian said it was okay.” She just shrugged his logic away, and that irritated him.

“Shadowhunters put down a lot of mundane ideas because they’re not,” and he put his hands in air quotes, ‘Angelic’. But what happens if that blight thing comes here and then your magic doesn’t work? What are you supposed to do when your seraph blades won’t light, or your runes don’t work? I mean like those crazy demon ladies that want to perform rituals on me, the Iron Sisters—I hope they got their name because their sitting on a mountain of iron, because that’s the only thing that’s going to keep them safe from the Unseelie King’s cross hairs, if the blight hits them.”

“What, and you’re a know it all?” Her temper flared, just as much as his. Tavvy looked ready to cry, and Kit cursed himself for scaring the little guy. He’d been through enough already.

“Give me a machine gun with iron bullets or a shot gun with iron buckshot—That should work against the Fae,” Kit claimed. Those were the kind of weapons he wanted to use in the first place.

“None of that stuff works well. Those weapons can’t be runed and barely work within Idris wards.”

“That’s the point Dru. If those things fail, mundane stuff might still work.”

“What about demons though? Nephilim are the only ones who can kill demons. Guns and bullets wouldn’t work on them.”

“I heard during the Mortal War vampires and werewolves fought alongside the Shadowhunters. So, they didn’t kill any demons in that battle?”

“No, they did,” she answered in frustration. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I want a flame thrower. Fire should work on a demon, right?” he asked Diana.

“Fire does work sometimes,” Diana said. She’d been quiet up till now. He was kinda surprised. She almost sounded interested in his suggestions.

“And a grenade launcher,” he smiled at the thought. “I really want to know what napalm would do to a demon.”

***

Julian liked Maia. She was kind in allowing his family to stay at the Praetor House the last few days, to hide Helen and even Mark from the Clave until they found out what was happening within the Council. His last phone call with Emma had been more than upsetting. Now, he was in hiding too.

This is what it felt to have the whole world turn against you.

For a long time, he’d been angry at Uncle Arthur’s circumstances: that it had made him grow up too fast, that it was too much responsibility, so that at times he felt like he might break. Now, he felt grateful for that experience for without that earlier tempering, he would have been rolled over by the fear. Now he was pissed. Now he was unafraid to be ruthless.

Maia was pissed too. He thought of her as easy going, but the latest news of the Council had riled her to the point where she and Bat had taken a few hours to change, hunt and run. Kieran had also arrived on Windspear. He’d brought with him a stack of reference books of old tomes he’d requisitioned from the Scholomance that might help them in further researching the Black Volume. Magnus and Alec were there—Magnus was looking better. He still looked old, but a bit more well rested.

Jace arrived from the city, along with Simon and Isabelle. They brought with them Lily Chen, the Vampire representative for the Council. She’d taken over the position, at least temporarily, after Nightshade had been arrested. She was a whirlwind of righteous fury, decked out in a goth black outfit that Dru would have loved. She was a little scary when angry. He thought she and Isabelle had a grand time commiserating, and he felt a little sorry for Simon who just looked subdue.

Whole sections of the Praetor Lupus had been rebuilt after the Dark War. Like the L.A. Institute this large meeting room was new. Utilitarian and practical it had a huge conference table and over a dozen leather chairs surrounding it. He was glad for the room, they needed it. Large windows were set against one wall, but in deference to Lily they had been draped in blackout fabric, and the light came from mundane light fixtures rather than witchlight which seemed strange to him.

Jace and Alec had their heads together over by Magnus. Both were whispering in low tones. He hoped it was something private like their father’s funeral and not about him. He’d been surprised when Jace came without Clary, and even more so to learn that she’d gone to L.A. to be with Emma. He was glad for that, that Emma wasn’t alone.

Cristina sat elegantly in one of the chairs, while Kieran sat on the table next to her. At least here, he was welcome. Kit was off on his errand this morning with Diana and the younger kids, so Mark was drafted to stay with Ty—Julian was learning more about Mark every day, especially his loathing for any type of Clave politics and was grateful that he didn’t have to worry about Mark’s sudden outbursts as a distraction.

Helen and Aline were whispering animatedly in a corner. Neither looked happy; Helen looked scared. It reminded him of how she looked in the Council Chamber before the vote to exile her.

Julian didn’t quite understand how the Clave’s actions were coming as any big surprise. After what he’d witnessed of the Cohorts vitriol, it was only to be expected they would use this to their advantage—their chance to seize power.

“How could the Clave do this!” Lily screeched. “We are members of the Council, we had a right to vote. Jia promised we’d be called in when the vote for the L.A. Institute was up and they did it without us!” Then she flounced over to Alec, and kissed him on the cheek in a strange show of affection. “I’m sorry about your dad.”

Alec gave her a quick hug. “Thanks.”       

“The official correspondence I received said that between us, the Downworlders only get three votes, and since Zara was appointed with more than that, our votes didn’t matter.” Maia explained.

“They never really have though, have they? We’re like ornaments so they can say we’re all united, but all is it is that we’ve agreed to bow down to them.” Lily said in a combination of mockery and loathing.

“It’s worse than that,” Aline said. “My mom has been replaced. They called for a vote of no confidence because of what happened at the last meeting. She’s no longer Consul.”

This was news to the new arrivals who were just catching up. That had been the same news that made Maia and Bat go for their earlier run.

“Then who is?” Isabelle asked. She looked menacing, a flash of fire in her dark brown eyes. Julian could see why her and Lily got along.

“Lazlo Balogh. He was head of the Budapest Institute.”

Simon groaned. “He came to lecture at the Academy. He’s an ass.”

“He was also the one that led the fight against Helen,” Aline reminded them. “They didn’t think Exile was enough, they wanted to kill her.” Julian did not know Aline well, had not spent much time with her, but her anxiety was clear. She was worried that now that the Cohort, and those sympathetic to their cause, were in charge, they’d finally be able to push that agenda through. So was he.

“What about the Inquisitor?” Isabelle asked in frustration. “Who replaced Dad?”

“They are voting on the Inquisitor tomorrow, but my mother told me it is likely to go to Horace Dearborn.”

Maia looked enraged again. “They did not inform of us that either. We have a right to be there!”

“To them it is Shadowhunter business. We have no right there,” Magnus said sadly. “And Zara won the vote for Los Angeles Institute,” Magnus added. “It will only be a matter of time before the Clave starts enacting new laws.”

They all took a few moments to absorb the implications of that. Julian let them go on a bit, letting everyone have their chance to speak. It was important that everyone felt heard. There was a fair amount of shouting, and while Kieran had been patiently watching the meeting Julian could tell he desperately wanted to leave.

“We give Zara and the Cohort what they want,” Julian interrupted in a calm voice, one he pitched low enough that it had the ring of authority. The one that people listened to.

“What?” Isabelle asked flabbergasted.

“They want an end the Accords. The Downworlders are right—they are not equally represented. How are any of you going to go back to your people and explain that you’re now working with the very people that want to register warlocks, control vampire blood supply, round up the wolves and place them into camps. Your people won’t stand for it, nor should they. Too many of them are already upset about the Cold Peace.”

“Are you crazy? Julian, the Accords are what unite us. If they were to go away and our alliances fracture, then it puts the whole world at risk,” Simon explained.

He hadn’t seen Simon in a long time. He understood Simon would still see him as a kid.

“Simon’s right,” Alec agreed. “You weren’t there in Edom with us, when we learned their world history. The Jonathan Shadowhunter there was a divider, and because of that and their infighting, it left their world open to a demon invasion.”           

“And I don’t think that you understand. Helen, did you bring the map?” She looked confused, but nodded and rolled a long parchment over the desk. It was a map of Earth, with all their ley lines elegantly penned. The map also marked the spots where strange fluctuations of dark magic identified the birth of circle—the circles of ash where runes did not work and seraph blades did not light. The circles that matched the blight in Faerie. He’d seen the map earlier and even if he was wrong, he knew he had a very compelling circumstantial case.

“Kieran, since you are Fae, you understand ley lines better than any of us.” He had faded into the background and looked annoyed, like a child being called on by a teacher. “When we were investigating Malcolm, and his use of the ley lines, we discovered the Institute maps were wrong. You fly over all corners of the world with the Wild Hunt, can you tell me if _this_ map is accurate?”

“Julian, what are you getting at?” Helen asked.

“For a long time, more and more demons have been coming into our world, and we’ve never figured out how or why. If the map you’re working from is wrong, it might help explain it. Here was the convergence outside L.A.” He pointed to a stained spot just like the other marks on the map; it was the place they’d fought Malcolm, rescued Tavvy. “But there were no ley lines anywhere in the vicinity. The closest convergence is marked here,” he traced his finger to an area of open ocean tens of miles off the California coast. “Kieran?”

“I cannot know for certain without flying over, but your logic seems sound. There are places not marked where lines should be, others where they should not.”

“And here,” Julian indicated another spot, this time in Cornwall, at the location of the church he and Emma had burned to the ground. “Our information was that this was just a junction of two ley lines, but I’d bet anything this was a place of convergence. This is where he raised Annabel, the most important spell of his life: he sacrificed Arthur here. Not only would he want to hide that from the Clave, he would have wanted to amplify the power as much as possible. This has to be a convergence.”

“When Emma and I went to investigate, the necromancy was powerful enough to create a rip between dimensions. A blood demon, Sabnock of Thule, came through. While Emma fought it, I ripped the roof off to expose it to sunlight. It died, but I saw between the shadows down into that other world. Believe me when I say, there were things that we don’t want coming through into our world. The necromantic magic turned a holy site to something infernal.”

“Did you report this to the Council, Jia?” Jace asked. “The Silent Brothers need to be sent out there.”

Helen looked worried, shadows under her eyes, a frown furrowing between her brows.

Julian’s eyes gave a hard challenge to Jace.  “Emma and I took care of it. It’s not a problem anymore.”

“You might have secured it temporarily, but a rip is complicated and dangerous—you need a lot of power to do that. Magnus, maybe you and I— “ Helen started.

“I said I took care of it,” Julian said beginning to feel the edge of anger.

“How?” Jace was always a little too observant. He knew Julian was holding back and didn’t appreciate it. Not for something as important as open rips and tears in their world.

Magnus stepped in. “We’ll of course check it out to be sure, but in this case, I’m inclined to believe Julian.”

“You are missing what’s important,” Julian said.

“What’s more important than that?” Isabelle asked.

“It means the convergences are the nexuses that power the world’s wards, Isabelle. I don’t think Malcolm used the L.A. convergence exclusively. I think he portaled between the most powerful spots on the globe for each of his sacrifices, trying to amplify as much power as he could along the way.”

“Why are we still talking about Malcolm,” Lily wanted to know. “Don’t we have more pressing issues. Like the Clave?”

“The convergences are lynch pins, Lily,” Helen tried to explained concern creeping into her voice.

“So?”

“So, if they go down, you’re looking at a worldwide power outage of all the Earth’s wards,” Julian said. “Or am I wrong? Magnus? Helen? Kieran? With the wards down our world would be completely vulnerable to a demonic invasion.”

Helen and Magnus shared a look between them as though they finally understood Julian’s point. Helen looked like she wanted to be sick and Magnus bowed down by all four hundred years of his age.

“No,” Magnus whispered, “no you’re not wrong.”

“Do you think Malcolm performed some of the sacrifices in the Unseelie Lands then, and that is the source of the blight there as well?” Kieran asked.

“Some of his victims were Seelie gentry, so it’s possible. Helen’s map only saw ten circles, and I don’t know how many there are in Faerie. There were the thirteen sacrifices, then the last.” That was a thought. The last sacrifice had been Arthur, and when he and Emma had gone to the site it had not yet grown dead like the other ones. It was possible that it would have over time, the circles seemed to be growing, but it also could be that the fire rune at the church was able to halt the progression. He should ask Magnus later.

“It has been growing, the blight there. Nothing is habitable, our people flee. I am one with magic of the Wild Hunt, and even I turn away from those places. They are cursed.”

It seemed there were a great many curses in this world. _Parabatai_ always foremost in his mind. “The Unseelie King has long wanted to unite his people, why would he want to destroy them?” Maia asked.

Julian had given considerable thought into the mind of Malcolm Fade. He hated how well he understood the warlock. “I don’t think Malcolm would have told him. If the Unseelie King rescued Malcolm from the Clave all those centuries ago and left Annabel behind to be tortured and murdered—he probably held just as much of a grudge against the King as the Clave or the Blackthorns. And maybe it was a fitting in the way of Faerie to give the King his greatest desire—destroying Nephilim power, without mentioning the consequences: that he’d be killing all his own people as well. All the same, the King might have doomed his people.”       

“What are we supposed to do now?” Isabelle asked. “How would we even stop something like that?”

“I think the only shot we have is to get the Black Volume. If we can understand the magic that started this, maybe the warlocks can figure out a way to undo it. Magnus—Malcolm began his sacrifices about six months ago. Is that about when the warlock sickness began?”

Magnus and Alec gave each other a long look that was answer enough. “Yes,” he agreed.

“So, it’s possible the Black Volume is corroding more than just Angelic magic. It’s having an effect on the Warlocks, and the Fae home lands. All magics?” Julian asked.

“That is a terrifying thought,” Magnus said.

“I won’t go to the Clave with this new information. The Clave and the Courts don’t care. They are more concerned with their petty politics. Even if every one of us went into a Council meeting to testify, not that they’d even hear us—they wouldn’t believe us,” Julian said.  “Not only are they incompetent, they will more than likely blame Helen for the map’s inaccuracies and use it as an excuse to claim she was in league with the Unseelie King. They’ll use it as a reason to justify executing her. Do any of you disagree that is the most likely outcome? Or believe that she is a traitor?” It’s was Julian’s harsh assessment, with no minced words. And a stark challenge to anyone in the room to disagree with him.

“Julian—no, we know she’s not,” Isabelle sat stunned.

“Then you understand how pointless it is to give the Clave this information.”

“We can’t just not tell them. This is bigger than us,” Simon said.

“You have a plan, don’t you Julian?” Magnus asked crossing his arms, looking at Julian a bit like a prize pupil. At least he had Magnus’ full attention.

“Simon, you said we need to unite and that is exactly right,” Julian said. “We break from the Clave and form our own Alliance.”


	11. Alliances

It was an older lady that met them at a white farmhouse. She was wearing a clean apron, silvered hair pulled into a neat bun, and smelled like fresh baked bread. Kit felt like he landed into Clark Kent’s childhood. Maia didn’t say if the woman was a werewolf, but it was nice that for once it didn’t matter.

“You must be Diana,” she welcomed them into her home.

Yep, Clark Kent’s home. His life only got weirder and weirder. The old white farmhouse was well lived in. Floral wallpaper that wasn’t too obnoxious greeted them. There was a set of slightly worn couches that looked really comfortable with a rocking chair in the corner of the living room. A large braided rag rug sat on top of oak hardwood floors, but it wasn’t too rustic in the way that made his teeth hurt. The place looked like it was decorated back in the 40’s or 50’s and had never been updated.

The house matched the old lady perfectly. He’d bet she’d lived her entire life as a farmer’s wife and school teacher, went to church every Sunday. Her name was Mrs. Anderson, but Kit wouldn’t ever think of her as anybody other than Mrs. Kent.

How would it feel to be able to live your whole life in only one place—to be able to call one place home and never worry about having to leave it? Livvy thought it would be the same thing as heaven, when she got to go back to the L.A. Institute. She was in a different heaven now. Kit wanted to turn to her and joke, “Next time you need to specify.” His throat closed uncomfortably, and he hoped his eyes wouldn’t teared up.

“Please sit,” the nice lady offered. She was impressed with Tavvy and went to fetch honest to god homemade cookies and milk. When she brought out a plate, there was even more than one variety. Chocolate chip was always the standard, but there were oatmeal raisin, sugar and unbelievably snickerdoodles. Snickerdoodles were his all time favorite. It must be a sign.

They chatted and talked, the usual kind of ice breaker talk, how was the drive? Was there trouble finding the place? And when the real questions came Diana directed her to Kit.

“Tell me why you think my pup would be a good match for you and your family? Taking care of a dog is a hefty responsibility. Why should I entrust it to you?”

She was rather blunt and he almost choked on a cookie crumb. He didn’t know he was going to be interviewed.

“It’s not for me,” he cleared his throat. “Although, I’ll help,” he added hastily. “It’s for my friend Tiberius. He’s fifteen, has autism—“ shit, should he be saying all that? “There’s been a death in the family and,” he stumbled. “I can’t think of any other way to help him, to get through to him. But, he’s really good with animals and I think having to take care of one will help him come out of his shell.”          

“Hmm….” She said. Was that a good hmm, or a bad one?

“I’m Ty’s sister, Drusilla,” she said, introducing herself. “Kit’s right. Ty is really good with animals. I don’t get the whole therapy thing of it, but Ty is very responsible. He can feed it and walk it and all those other things.”

“But, he is not here himself?”

An awkward silence descended. “Ty isn’t feeling well right now,” Dru said lamely. Kit thought Dru wasn’t looking so good either. She looked haunted too.

The old woman turned to Diana. He knew adults often did this with each other. Kids always said that they would do things, but it was the adults the bucked stopped at. She needed to know Diana would make sure the kids promises were kept.

Diana nodded in that adult code.

“And you’ve never had a dog before?” the interrogation continued.

Tavvy’s eyes were big and round. “No ma’am.”

The woman’s eyes turned from stern to soft in an instant. Tavvy was going to be Kit’s new secret weapon.

“Well, then,” she said getting up. “I’ll be right back.”

When she returned she had two puppies with her. “This breed is a Labrador Retriever. They are very good for both their intelligence and temperament. I had reservations when I spoke to Maia because there is training involved to become a therapy dog, but that can happen while he’s living with you. Sometimes it better if it’s done that way. I can give you a list of contacts that will help you with that.”   

Tavvy gave an honest to god laugh as the two pups came up to him and licked his little face. One puppy was a light brown silvery shade and the other was more golden in color. They were both energetic fluff balls. Even Dru got down on her hands and knees to play.

“These are the last two of the litter,” she said. “The brown one, we’ve been calling him Mocha has a bit more energy than his brother Tanner, but if he’s the one you choose he’ll finish settling down in another year.

Both puppies were jumping around the little boy like they had a crack addiction. “What do you mean choose?” Tavvy asked, his hand scratching the fuzzy fleece of the golden one. He looked confused and Kit got a very uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“Tavvy, we only came for one. For Ty,” Diana said gently.

“Yes,” Mrs. Kent said. “You can take some time and play with them. See which one would be best suited for your brother.”

“But they are part of the same litter, that means they were born together, right? Their brothers?” Tavvy said his lip wobbling a little. “If we take one, then they’ll never see each other again.”

Red sirens of warning flashed in Kit’s head and he wasn’t the only one. He could see his expression of horror mirrored in both Diana and Dru.

And that was how it was decided that Tavvy needed his own dog.

***       

Julian had their undivided attention now. Good.

“I am a Shadowhunter,” Julian declared. “My loyalty, my oaths are to Raziel and the Angels. My mission is to protect the world from Demons. The Clave has strayed from its mission and its path. I will not be a part of their new legacy.”

“Are you like giving a speech declaring your Independence?” Simon asked looking a bit impressed. He wouldn’t be for long though, Julian thought, giving him an indulgent smile back.

“Like I said, the Cohort wants to eliminate the Accords. We give them what they want. The Clave doesn’t understand how interdependent they are with the downworlders.  Magnus, how long would it take you to gather the warlocks that engage in business with the Nephilim and cut ties. Close the portals the Clave depends on? Would the Spiral Labyrinth stand with us and cut off ties to the Scholomance and the Silent Brothers? By doing this we slow the Clave down. It will be harder for them to stop us.”

Julian suspected there were very few things that could shock a warlock who had lived as long as Magnus had, but he thought he might have just done it. “Go on,” he said noncommittedly.

“The werewolves and vampires have networks throughout the world. Everything from communication using mundane technology to the seedier dealings of the Shadow Market. This isn’t about finding out their sins, it’s about stopping the spread of this dark magic. Everyone will suffer from it. They have resources, even contact with demons that may give us information to help us. Maia, would the werewolves consider this?”

“Given our _only_ other option is the Clave,” Maia said, “I’ll hear you out.”

“Lily, you and the vampires are particularly important because you are undead. You may be the key to understanding how this necromantic magic is working.”

She looked doubtful. “There are a lot who want the end of the world to come. To feed off the death and destruction. Maureen was like that, to not have anyone looking over your shoulder means freedom to indulge—like an addict.” For all of Lily’s sass and seamlessness to blend with mundane culture, Julian understood then that the vampire before him had witnessed everything she spoke of. He wasn’t exactly sure how old she was, but he’d bet it was more than a few decades. Probably at least a century mark. She’d seen a lot.

“It will take a strong hand to reign in the vampires, I understand that. Could you do it?”

She did not look thrilled at the idea. “I knew if we lost the Mortal War feeding would be good for a time, but not forever. We need mundanes healthy and alive, or we starve. Rafael taught me that. This isn’t different than that, is it?” She was looking at Magnus now. Julian wasn’t privy to all the details of the wars that these people had fought in, but he knew that Rafael was her clan leader for a very long time, and that he had died at the hands of Sebastian Morgenstern in Edom. Something of what he was saying was resonating. “It’s not something I can commit to without speaking to my people first. They will not want this if it is simply a new form of the old Accords.”

What she wanted was reasonable. “I understand the Clave has made the rules and laws and downworlders were expected to tow the line. It was never fair. If _we_ form an Alliance, with each other: Warlocks, Werewolves, Vampires, Shadowhunters” then Julian turned and looked directly at Kieran, “and the Fair Folk—each faction would be equally represented. I’m not saying no laws need to be made, but there can be room for impartiality and with that maybe justice. It’s a good deal, a fair deal that you’ll need to sell to your people, and much more then they’d ever get from the Clave.”

“You would include Faeries in this Alliance?” Kieran asked.

“Those that stray should be suitably punished, but I do not blame every faerie for the actions of their queen and king. My brother and sister have been punished for crimes they never committed, so yes, I will include Faerie. A fresh start—the end of the Cold Peace.”

Julian’s gaze went to Cristina trying to gauge her reaction. This is what she wanted. Her eyes were wide but her face was inscrutable so he didn’t know if he’d won her over—yet.

“And you Kieran?” Julian turned his attention back to him. “This is an infection of the Faerie Lands too. You have stood with us before. If I asked you to be the Faerie representative in this new Alliance, would you agree?”

Kieran went very still. “I’m not sure the Seelie Queen would agree to that: she will want her own puppet. And I still serve the Hunt. But, I appreciate the offer.”

“Kieran, you are best suited to this task, and if I can arrange it with the Queen and Gwyn? You’d have a measure of freedom.”

He gave Julian a considering look.

“Think of it this way—You were already the Seelie Queen’s representative to the Clave, and you are an Unseelie Prince. You have ridden with the Hunt and you will protect all the lands of fae regardless of what wild fae live there. You’re the closest unifying voice the Faerie have—and by agreeing to this, you’re helping to end the Cold Peace. It will piss your father off.”

Kieran barked with laughter. “I was never wrong in my estimation to your ruthlessness, Julian Blackthorn. You are a dangerous man.”

“There is that,” Julian acknowledged for once not bothering to hide it.

“I agree. I will not see Faerie destroyed for my father’s hubris. If there is a way to end the Blight I will help, and I will take the gift of having the yoke of the Cold Peace removed from my people as well. Just do not think to play Kingmaker, son of thorns, with anyone other than Adaon.”

Julian inclined his head in acknowledgement.

It was strange how old hatred and new loyalties rebuilt themselves. Never in a thousand years did Julian ever believe he could forgive Kieran for his betrayal of Mark. Of the whipping Emma endured. Forgiveness was still not there, may never be, but there was a measure of respect between the two of them that would allow them to work together. That Kieran loved Mark, Julian had no doubts.

“My Lady of the Roses, you witness your wish on the cusp of coming true. Will she be the Shadowhunter representative?” Kieran asked.

“Not right now, Kieran.” Julian turned to the Jace, Alec, Isabelle and Simon. “I need to know where you stand. I think there are others within the Clave that might consider joining us—might be glad to have an alternative to the Clave. They can continue to fight, yet still remain true to their oaths as Shadowhunters.”

Alec came up and put his hand on Julian’s shoulder. “I am impressed. I don’t know if I would be brave enough to be the first to jump off the cliff, but I’ve learned from my _parabatai_ to follow off it well. What you propose would not just protect Magnus, or maybe even the world, but I think of my sons and I’d do this not only for myself, but for them too.”

Jace put a cautionary hand on Alec. “And if we don’t?”

“It won’t change my mind or what I’m trying to do. If you choose to stay with the Clave, that is of course your prerogative. I’d like to know your decision though, by the time they choose their new Inquisitor. Ideally, I’d like the Alliance to use the New York Institute as its base. You’re all located there and it can easily be converted into a stronghold. A beacon for other Shadowhunter to go to.” Julian’s eyes couldn’t help but wander to Magnus. “But, I do have other contingency plans.”

“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me,” Jace grumbled. “It’s a lot to think on. The Clave will not forgive this, and we need time to talk it over.”

The Shadowhunters from New York were close. If one of them fell in with his plans, it would have a domino effect.

“You’d want to be the Shadowhunter representative then?” Jace asked him.

“No. I need to sort a few more things with my family: then Emma and I are going into Faerie. The book, Annabel, the King—they all need to be dealt with. I want Simon to be the Shadowhunter representative of this new Alliance,” Julian stated.

“ _What?!”_ Simon backed away into Isabelle, who grabbed his hand. Her adoring eyes had no effect on him: he was doing a great imitation of a scared rabbit. “I’m not qualified for something like that. Alec, or even Jace would be good at it.”

“Nope. You’re perfect.” Julian was decisive. He began clicking off points off his fingers: “You were once mundane, you were once a vampire, you summoned an Angel—and not only didn’t get killed for it, you walked away with Glorious. You’ve battled on a demon realm, you sacrificed your immortality to save your friends—which speaks to your loyalty. You survived the Academy and from what I’ve heard that might have been worse than the experience on Edom, you drank from the Mortal Cup and survived yet again to become a Shadowhunter. Downworlders will know you have respect for them, and no one can argue that you haven’t passed the test of the Angels themselves.”

“But Alec runs his own alliance, he has experience. Jace has even more experience running an Institute,” Simon said.

“Simon, can I be honest with you?” Julian said lowering his voice as if imparting a great secret.

“Yes?” he squeaked.

“When I was younger I really looked up to you. Lately I’ve been giving thought to mottos and what they mean. The Clave has theirs: ‘The law is hard, but it is the law’. When I think of you though, I see your motto more like, ‘Doing the right thing is hard, but do the right thing’. Just stick with that, ask for help if you run into problems and you’ll be fine.”

Simon still looked unconvinced. Being thrust into a role one didn’t want was something that Julian could relate too, but he had no room for sympathy.

“Another thing to consider,” Julian tried again, “is that you and Isabelle are planning a wedding—maybe even have discussed having a family one day. This position would allow you to have a hand in updating old laws. Wouldn’t you like your mother and sister to be at your wedding? Wouldn’t you like to have your mother know her grandchildren?”

It was a well aimed arrow. Especially given Robert’s death. Simon looked like he’d been smacked in the face.

Alec knew exactly what he’d done and wasn’t appreciative. “Are there any other lives you’d like to arrange?”

Julian locked gazes with Alec refusing to back down. “For the sake of continuity, I think Magnus, Maia and Lily should remain their faction’s representatives. Although I do admit it will be for the own people to choose their representatives and that they would be answerable to their own people for their decisions and votes. It’s not my intention to have a puppet government, this won’t work if it is.”

“Generous of you,” Magnus mocked. He looked a little shell shocked. Julian had an absurd notion to tuck him in for a nap. He needed to check on Tavvy soon. 

Helen and Aline had come up on either side of him and Helen leaned into him, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. “You haven’t asked us baby brother?”

“You’d rather I hand you over to the Clave?”

“Hell, no. I finally have my family back. We’ll solve this together. We need to be together more than ever. I don’t know if anyone had a clue how what just happened with the Clave could be turned into something good, but I think you just did it. I’m proud of you,” she practically beamed at him.

Julian felt an absurd warmth at her praise. Her words meant a lot. Especially since Livvy. She hadn’t blamed him, even though he wished she had. It would have been easier. He’d failed to protect her and while he could rearrange the politics before him, Livvy was still lost to him. Helen told him he’d done well by the younger kids, and maybe someday her words of love might give him comfort.

He just didn’t know what she was going to think when he laid out his plans for her and Aline.

“Do not underestimate the Silent Brothers or the Iron Sisters, Julian: or the help they can offer you. They are the Clave’s greatest weapon and they are not on your side,” Magnus cautioned. “This is a mad plan of yours. You know Plato of course, ‘ _Madness, provided it comes as the gift of heaven is the channel by which we receive the greatest blessings_.’”

Julian did know Plato, and knew the rest of it: _The men of old who gave things their names saw no disgrace or reproach in madness; otherwise they would not have connected it with the name of the noblest of arts, the art of discerning the future and called it the manic art…Madness is a nobler thing than sober sense. Madness comes from God, whereas sober sense is merely human._ How often had Arthur quoted him that?

He wouldn’t mind the madness if it meant he got to keep Emma. And didn’t destroy his family.


	12. Second Guesses Are Always Wrong

Tavvy claimed the golden puppy. Kit would have matched him with the brown one, because he had far more energy, but Kit realized that Tavvy had somehow outmaneuvered them all. Kit thought the little guy probably watched Julian a little too closely. He would never underestimate a seven-year-old again.

Kit worked to tamp down his own panic by the time they rolled back into the Praetor House. _Second guesses are always wrong_ , his father used to say. Kit thought he should listen to that ghost voice until the introductions were over—this was a good thing for Ty, he reminded himself. The pups, their cages and their uncomprehending amount of accessories had been loaded onto the back of the truck for the drive home. Diana was much slower, precious cargo and all on the way back, which Kit was grateful for.

Tavvy was so excited to tell Julian and it was perplexing that the first thing he did was burst into tears in Julian’s arms. “I want to show Livvy,” he cried. And that sinking feeling Kit had earlier came back with a vengeance. Kit decided he was never having kids.

Julian held him close, rubbing his back in soothing motions, telling him over and over, “I know you do. I know she’d want to meet the puppy, too.”

Julian looked wrecked.

“I need help back here,” Diana called out, saving the war torn two with the grace of a distraction.

Julian came up to the truck still holding his brother to see the new additions. Diana had the cage doors open and Kit took the fervently wagging one meant for Ty in his arms. “The golden one is mine,” Tavvy announced with determination. Julian’s eyebrows went up in surprise because nobody warned him about this change in plans.

“How did the meeting go?” Diana whispered to Julian.

“Things are going to change,” he sounded tired, like a balloon slowly leaking air. “Helen and Aline are in there, they’ll fill you in. We’re having a family meeting in about an hour. I’d like you to be there.” Diana nodded, leaving them to Julian like a changing of the guard. They were a troupe of kids and fluff going in search of Ty.

Julian turned to Kit then, “I’d like you there as well Kit. For Ty.” Kit cringed. Julian didn’t have to say anything more, he knew what the meeting was about. _For Ty._ What was this going to do to him, to find out Julian, his rock of family stability was going to go slowly mad? That Emma, his extra sister, might not ever be coming back either?

Kit looked down at the soulful brown eyes of their new companion. “It’s going to be a tough first day on the job,” he confided. “My first day on the job I fought Mantid demons, and later there was this sea demon incursion. At least no one here will try to eat you,” he paused in thought. “At least I’m pretty sure the werewolves won’t eat you. I think Maia would have said something.” He felt the wiggle of tail beneath his arm, the vibration of happiness and thought that maybe Ty wasn’t the only one who was going to fall in love.

Kit was really nervous. He’d been so sure this was an excellent idea, but now that the time was here he couldn’t stop from feeling that he’d been too presumptuous. What if this was the wrong thing for Ty? It wasn’t like a dog could replace Livvy after all.

“Mark has been with him all morning. He missed the meeting so Ty wouldn’t be alone.”

“What happened Jules,” Dru asked quietly. “What are we going to do if the Clave decides it wants to arrest Mark and Helen. You won’t let them be taken away again, will you?”

God, the faith Dru had in Julian to fix things was amazing to Kit—like he could actually _do_ anything to keep the Clave away. Kit knew Julian would try though, and once again felt so very sorry for how much this guy’s life sucked.

 “I’m taking care of it, Dru. We need to have a family meeting this afternoon. It’s important. I’m asking Cristina to take care of Tavvy. I know you said you wanted more responsibility, you may regret saying that,” he whispered to her conspiratorially.

Dru perked up at the fact she wasn’t going to be treated like a kid—like Tavvy. “No, I’ll be there,” she said with an adultness that reminded Kit of Julian. He hoped Dru didn’t turn out like him though. She was still innocent in a way that life hadn’t chewed her up yet. Then again, seeing the shadows under her eyes that hadn’t been there before Livvy’s death, maybe it had.

“But, right now let’s see Ty. Did you guys give the puppies names?” Julian asked.

“Mrs. Kent gave them placeholder names. She’s says it’s up to us to decide,” Kit said.

“Mine’s the golden one,” Tavvy said again.

“So, you’ve said,” Julian gave him a gentle smile a ruffled the curls on top of his head. “You can keep him Tavs. You can name him, too.” The assurance seemed to settle Tavvy a bit.

Mark hearing the bustle came out from Ty’s room. He overheard the last bit. “Names are very important things. Much consideration should be given.” Tavvy frowned looking worried again.

Julian hugged him close. “We’ll help you figure it out,” he promised.

“Do you think all of us in there will be too much for him?” Dru asked chewing her lip. It was a serious question, and Kit was surprised when Julian looked to him for an answer.

“If he wants us to leave, he’ll have to tell us that,” Kit said.

Mark lifted a curious eyebrow at Julian—and opened the door.

Ty’s hair wasn’t overly long, but it hung in limp curls, enough to hide part of his face, his eyes. Kit wanted to challenge him to look at him, to know there was a spark of Ty looking back. But while Ty had accepted his touch with the rocking and the pressured holding, he still hadn’t looked at Kit. He hadn’t looked at anybody.      

“You’re up,” Julian said giving Kit a gentle nudge forward.

He felt warmth crawl up his cheeks. “It was my idea,” he said clearing his throat in nervousness. “You’re really good with animals and I got this puppy for you. I think he can give you comfort in a way the rest of us don’t know how.” God, he sounded so lame.

Ty sat up a little, but he was still hunched into a fetal position, only more upright. He thrust the puppy into Ty’s lap then backed away, as if just delivering a bomb. A happy wagging tail thumped against Ty’s arm. Long fingers of gentle hands spread through the fleece as the puppy wiggled nearly hyperventilating in excitement. He kept jumping up from Ty’s lap trying to reach his face for licks. Ty didn’t say a word.

Tavvy crawled up on the bed next to Ty with his new golden friend. “He had a brother and if we took one, it meant leaving the other behind, so I got one too,” Tavvy’s earnestness stopped Jules short. “Jules said it was okay.”

“I don’t know anything about raising a dog, Tavs. I think Ty’s going to have to be the one to teach you,” Julian said. Dru and Mark stood together over in a corner as if expecting a horror show ending. She was biting her fingernails in nervousness, and that’s something Kit had never seen her do before. Mark looked like he would be ready to feed the dog to the Wild Hunt if this upset his brother anymore.

The worse that could happen was Ty could say he didn’t want it. He was still silent. It was agonizing.

“If you don’t want him, I’ll keep him,” Kit finally volunteered. “Tavvy promised them they wouldn’t get separated, and I’ll help him keep that promise, but I don’t know anything about raising puppies or dogs—so you’re kind of dragged into this, whether you like it or not.”

Ty looked toward Julian then. His face didn’t change expressions, but Kit felt as if there was an entire conversation going on between the two.

“They don’t have names,” Tavvy went on sitting on the bed next to his brother, so the two dogs tackled each other. The golden was about to roll off the bed, but Ty’s fast reflexes caught him before he made it over the edge. “Mark said names are important. So I need help with that, too.”

There was a short nod, but still no verbal answer.

Kit put a steadying hand on Ty’s shoulder. “I don’t know if this was the right thing to do for you? I worried it was a stupid idea.” He paused gearing himself up for his confession, “I asked myself what Livvy would think, because I didn’t know.”

Collective silence descended in the room.

“I think we should talk about her, Livvy. She’d want to be here. And maybe if we include her, maybe in a way she still is,” Kit said. It was the kind of honesty that hurt.

“What do you think her answer was?” Ty’s voice was hoarse and unused.

He spoke. Tiberius had broken his silence and Kit felt an absurd joy, that Ty had said something. It ratcheted up that queasy tension in his stomach. _Please let me not have fucked this up._

“That she’d be worried about you. That she didn’t want you to be alone.” Ty didn’t say anything and Kit felt like he needed to fill the space. “She was your twin—you knew her better than anyone. Was she right?”

“Yes,” he answered simply. Ty raised his hand to cover Kit’s and his entire body thrilled at the connection. “I know I’m not.”

***       

“What do you think?” Alec asked Jace, glad to have some private time to catch up with his _parabatai_. He’d pulled Jace aside while Simon experimented with his new potential political role. He was sitting down with the Maia and Lily, plotting to see if Julian’s idea could actually work. Isabelle wasn’t leaving his side. And Magnus had gone straight back to work examining the pages of the Black Volume Julian had found.

“I think he’s building an army against the Clave, maybe to protect his family,” Jace said. “And not doing a half bad job of it.” There was respect and admiration and a bit of fear in Jace’s tone.

“You make it sound like a bad thing.”

“Alec, he unseated the head of the head of L.A. vampire clan and Council representative with a pizza box. There is a lot more going on that what he’s telling us. _That_ is what makes me nervous.”

“He said that he and Emma had run afoul of the Clave—broke some laws,” Alec said.

“Color me surprised,” Jace added with a wealth of sarcasm.

“He said they’d gone to Dad. That Dad was going to help him.”

“They went to the _Inquisitor? For help?”_ Jace was astonished. He got up to pace off some of his restless energy. “Did he say why? What it was about?”

“Nope.”

“Do you have any ideas?”

“Magnus knows something,” Alec muttered.

“But he won’t tell you,” Jace said knowingly. Magnus and Alec were on solid footing in their relationship, but there were a lot of times Magnus’ work as a warlock might put Alec in awkward positions with his father and/or the Clave. They’d long ago set some guidelines in their relationship—something along the lines of: Don’t ask, don’t tell—so long as not telling didn’t cause harm to the family, ending of the world, or the hording of too many bags of glitter in the back of the closet for Max and Rafe to find. “It seemed like Julian and Magnus were having an entirely different conversation than the rest of us.”

“I noticed that too,” Alec answered. “It’s frustrating. He deals a lot with warlock confidentiality stuff—professionalism and all. I think it’s something about the Black Volume—he’ll tell us if he thinks we need to know. He was blindsided by what Julian suggested though. Julian’s unpredictable and angry—and Jace, I practiced with him the other day. He wiped the floor with me.”

Jace’s elegant golden eyebrow arched in a smirk. There would be a lot more practices on the horizon between them. Jace had given Emma some lessons when she was younger, just after the Dark War, but they’d never practiced one on one. He wondered how he’d fare. “Julian’s smart. Knows how to manipulate so you agree to everything, because it makes so much sense. He gave everyone in that room something they wanted. He’s a born politician.”    

“He backed you in the corner about the Institute and Simon as a representative. You don’t have to agree to any of this—he’s putting you on the wrong side of the Clave and for whatever heroics we’ve done in the past, they will not forgive us for this.” Alec steeled himself, “Even so, I want to do it. Valentine and now the Cohort gave a voice to the Shadowhunters that really feel this way about their elitism and their fear of Downworlders. You would think that Raziel’s words during the Mortal War would have changed people’s hearts and minds. That didn’t happen. Instead the ones who follow their hate and prejudices have only doubled down. Breaking from the Clave might prevent the bloodshed of a civil war, one that has been in the making for a long time.”

“You do know the Clave will never just let us walk away.”

“Jace, there aren’t enough Nephilim left to start a war with us. Not if means coming after us with a united shadow world behind us—especially if they’re already preparing for a war against the Unseelie King. Julian’s right: others will want to join us, especially those who believed in the Accords.”

“The Clave might be destroyed by this—maybe Idris along with it. Are you prepared for that, Alec? And this equality that he’s proposing with this new alliance? Even those who support the Accords will think that goes too far.”

“Do you?” Alec asked bluntly.

Jace shook his head in vexation. “I think sometimes fighting the wars are the easy part. It’s the rebuilding afterward which is the real challenge. Nephilim are hated by many and if we suddenly have only one vote among five— “

“They could do to us what we have done to them for the past millennium?”

“It’s a risk. An unintended consequence, especially if we have no say as to who the representatives are. If Maia or Lily, or Angel help us—Magnus can no longer be the Downworlder representatives then we don’t know what new leaders’ attitudes or votes will be. This may work now, but in a generation? In a century? They could easily turn against us.”

“Like they won’t already? It’s an opportunity for a fresh start Jace, and we can build a strong foundation from that. The alternative is war—because the kid is right, the Accords are finished. The Downworlders will not stand for this new leadership. They will unite against us. I understand you don’t want to do this— “

“I didn’t say that, Alec, I’m just looking at all the angles first. As should you. You haven’t even talked to Magnus about this. I haven’t talked with Clary, even though I know what she’ll say. Isabelle and Simon? Mom?”

“Magnus will respect whatever decision he thinks I need to make.”

“He hasn’t gotten better?” Jace asked. “He’s still sick.”

“It was worse in Idris. I was with him in the back rooms while Annabel went to testify, I thought…” he was getting choked up. “Brother Enoch had been by. He said there was nothing more the Silent Brothers could do for him. He fell unconscious and I didn’t know if he was going to wake up again. It was the scariest feeling. He’s better here, away from Idris. Maybe even behind the wards.”

“Do you know why he was worse in Idris?”

Alec looked at Jace. “Julian may be right about the blight. Magnus thinks maybe he was worse because of the proximity of the circle, the one by the Herondale manor. This is the first substantial lead we’ve had. The symptoms _did_ start about the same time Malcolm started his sacrifices.”

Jace cursed ferociously under his breath. “And what about Max and Rafe. Have you decided what to tell them yet?”

“They’re too young. They don’t even understand death yet—maybe Rafael does, in the fact the person doesn’t come back. He was so traumatized. We told Max about Dad and he’s still asking Mom about when Grandpa’s going to visit next. We decided to leave them with mom in New York. I don’t want them to be scared,” Alec was tired and with Jace he didn’t need to bother hiding his emotions, or have to worry about being strong. “We always thought that it would be me to go first. Magnus has always seemed invincible to me.”

Jace embraced Alec hard. “I know,” he said. “I’ll be there for whatever you need.”

“I know that,” he was tearing up and getting emotional and the thought pissed him off. “There’s another circle to the west of the Great Lakes, on the Canadian border. Julian wanted all of us to portal there later tonight so we can see first-hand. Can Clary do it? I don’t want him using any more magic. Hell, I don’t even want Magnus to go, but he’s insisting. If he gets worse there, he says it will be proof one way or another of a connection.  Julian managed to get copies of a few pages of the Black Volume—Magnus is working on translations now. That may give us some answers, but everyone is agreed we need the book. Julian wants to go, just him and Emma, into Unseelie lands to find it and to kill the King.” Alec looked at Jace worry etched in his eyes. “Magnus thinks it’s our best chance.”

“Maybe this is only another battle on the longer war, but Julian did something extraordinary here—he’s united the Downworlders. If everyone agrees, it will be the end of the Cold Peace,” Jace hedged.

“But you don’t like it. Is it because you didn’t think of it?”

Jace punched Alec on the shoulder an easiness of brotherly affection rolled through the tension. Back to business Alec asked, “Now, will you please tell me what you found in Faerie?”

“Clary’s been having odd dreams, more like nightmares. I don’t know if this plays into it—if these are like the ones she had before. You mentioned Magnus having them too.” Jace continued his pacing. “I asked her to marry me, she said she needed time to think about it, but she still hasn’t said yes. It’s driving me nuts not knowing if I did something, and she’s so closed up, she won’t talk to me about so many things lately. That damn Seelie Queen— “ he gave a long exhale, trying to rein in his temper. “She taunted me by saying she could tell me the real reason Clary said no—for a price, of course.”

Alec knew better, but asked anyway, “Did you tell Clary this? Ask her what she thought the Queen knew?”

Jace gave him a freezing look. It was a neat trick considering how golden alight his eyes were, banked fires of his frustration—and Alec knew all of Jace’s insecurities and self-doubts were wrapped up in there too. They both believed it was a given, a mere formality that Clary and Jace would get married. They were very much in love and had been for a long time.

And now they knew Clary was hiding something. That she didn’t trust Jace with whatever it was, would have hurt Jace worse than a flat out no to his proposal. The Seelie’s Queen’s comment was a success, then. It tortured Jace and revealed nothing.

God, he hated that bitch.

“What about the weapon, did you find out what Sebastian left behind?” Alec asked instead, trying to distract his _parabatai_.

“ _Ask indirect questions and find indirect answers_ ,” he quoted from the Codex. It was an obsolete book while semi accurate in the most sweeping of generalizations, it was highly inaccurate on details. The advice on Faeries was spot on, though.

“She is hiding something, something she really doesn’t want us to find. I’m not sure if it’s a weapon though. We spoke to Nene, Helen and Mark’s aunt and she seemed willing to trade on information for favors—mostly what she wanted to know was about Mark and Helen. We didn’t get very far with her, it felt too much of a betrayal to both Mark and Helen to tell her the private things she wanted to know. So, no, we learned nothing,” he was exasperated. It felt a wasted trip.

Jace explained that their time in Faerie was far shorter than in the outside world. They’d only been gone a couple nights, while over a week had passed on the outside world. They had learned that Julian and the others had passed through her Court ahead of them after leaving a path of destruction in their wake through the King’s lands. Jace seemed annoyed the Blackthorns were a step ahead of him.

Jace swore under his breath, “What the hell were they thinking going into Faerie like that?”

“Rescue attempt, strange loyalties. They are older than us when we went into a Hell dimension, so I’m inclined to give them leeway,” Alec said, “I do admit having the Riders show up at the Institute rattled Magnus.”

Jace grunted. “And it may be that the Black Volume was the weapon Sebastian was thought to leave behind. There was room for negotiation with the Queen, so long as we could end the Cold Peace. That was of course until the Council meeting.” Together they had watched the disaster unfold. The Seelie Queen had given them front row seats of the Council meeting—live through her scrying glass. Jace had watched as his father was struck down, powerless to do anything as Livvy was murdered before his eyes—and in a place so far away he’d couldn’t be of any help to anyone. 

It was one of the worst experiences of his life. The Queen would have drunk from his torment if she hadn’t been so furious. It was the first time Jace understood how unstable her temperament was—that she was halfway to the point of madness. Not an enviable quality for a leader of any people. He almost felt sorry for the Seelie Fae.

“She threw us out after that—said if we dared cross into her lands again she’d ply us with fae food and drink and imprison us for the next few centuries while we watch as everyone we know ages and dies. I thought that a rather unoriginal threat. I’d thought she would be more creative,” Jace sulked.

“She cannot lie,” Alec murmured. “So, while her threat is unoriginal she will do that to you given the chance. Please remember that.” Her threat was one of the main reasons Shadowhunters were so cautious about entering Fae lands in the first place. All of Nephilim knew the fates of Andrew and Arthur Blackthorn, how they’d been stolen away for seven years while only a single day passed in the mortal world. Nobody wanted to have that happen to them.

“I can’t decide who she hates more, the Shadowhunters or the King. She’ll make this work in her favor though, as her two greatest enemies war: they’ll both be weakened. Clary and I, we passed through some of the Blighted areas too—they are not exaggerating its destructiveness, and if it keeps growing it will eventually bleed into her lands. She wants the Black Volume too. Whoever has it will have leverage over her.”

“And if we go with Julian’s plan, it is an ending to the Cold Peace. That’s something she wants. He’ll have her favor by orchestrating this,” Alec said.

“It wouldn’t surprise me if she wanted the same thing from Julian. And if she did, I would love to know what she offered him in return—because no one has her favor. It would be a mistake to think that. But, your right. He can probably enter her lands unmolested. Have no doubt the Queen was watching our little conference in there. I don’t think the wards block her vision. Honestly, I don’t know what will. Even now I find myself tempering my words and thoughts. By the Angel, she can see everything. We wondered how Sebastian knew so much. The scrying glass was how, Alec.”


	13. Blackthorn Family Business

Julian was glad that the new puppy forced Ty outside. He was with Kit and Tavvy. He hadn’t considered how getting the dog for Ty could bring him and Tavvy closer, but he felt a wealth of gratitude to Kit for making the suggestion. It was something his two brothers could bond over, something other than Livvy’s death. They would need each other now more than ever.

Kieran was off with Mark grooming Windspear. Tavvy’s puppy had been about to chase after Mark, but upon hearing the faerie steed stomp his hooves and bray he went back to find Tavvy, a quivering basket of fear. Tavvy was delighted the dog had come to him. When his brother and Kieran wandered off into the woods, the golden began romping again.

Ty stood stiffly as his brown pup circled him a few times, peed on his leg, and then went back to playing with the golden. Kit looked worried about Ty’s reaction. Tavvy interrupted asking Ty a question and he shook his head, so at least there was some kind of communication going on—Ty was coherent enough to hear a question and respond, even if only the most perfunctory ways. That was progress. That meant Ty was still in there somewhere.

Cristina had agreed to watch Tavvy while he talked to the others about his situation with Emma. Julian thought this might be one of the hardest conversations of his life, but truth be told he was so sick of all the lies. He felt like his entire life was constructed on an unending series of deceptions, a scaffolding of dark artifices upon which his foundations were crumbling.

He’d learned from when Emma lied to him how destructive lies could be—even if they were meant for a good cause.

The sun was shining, but it wasn’t overly warm. More humid than he was used to and verdant green. It reminded him of England, only warmer. Green grass, thick and lush, trees everywhere. His mind was already mixing together a color palette of paints needed to bring to life the exact shade of verdigris and moss. He’d always wanted to take long road trips with Emma, travel through North America with her, just exploring. He wanted to have a thousand different backgrounds and landscapes to paint her. His hands were itching to have the freedom a paintbrush could give him.

Diana signaled them when the meeting room was open. Julian took a moment to pull her aside as everyone else filed in. “Things have been hectic, but I wanted to say thank you for what you’ve done for my family. You lost Livvy too, and I think we’ve been so wrapped up in our own grief that we might not have considered yours. You are a part of this family, too.”

She looked stunned, tears shining her dark eyes. “I wish I could do more. I lost my sister, Aria, a long time ago. We were battling a demon together. I survived and she didn’t. I’m not sure that is something any of us can get over, but I am here for you too, Julian.”

He felt a slow smile on his lips. “I know that,” he told her. “Did Helen fill you in on my suggestions to the Downworlders?”

She frowned. “It sounded like more than just ‘suggestions’.”

It was his turn to frown. “I don’t know if they will vote for it, and my next priority is to make sure my family is safe. I wanted to know if you’d be willing to help with that.”

“Julian, of course,” she said eyeing him suspiciously. “What do you need me to do?”

He told her and watched as her eyes widened. “I know that you are scared of the Clave finding out something about you. I respect your privacy, but I only want to know if your secret will in anyway impact what I need for you to do now?”

She looked like she was waiting for an executioner. “Julian, I know what you are trusting me with. And for that I will tell you the truth.”

~~~

Kieran was greatly relieved to once again be under the canopy of trees, surrounded by nature. Away from the cities of mundane populations, the air was fresh. There was no tugging of iron to weaken him, no foulness of pollution to sting his nose, no harsh man made sounds vibrating through the air. Here, his soul could breathe, and relax in Mark’s presence. Windspear was sipping from a low creek bed and Kieran cupped the cool clean water to his mouth. 

And he could envision a life of freedom.

Once they had privacy, Kieran wished to have Mark again, but he’d not come back to his room the night before. Mark was unsettled by too much, and if Kieran had to learn a bit of patience in pursuit of his greatest heart’s desire, he would. “Did Julian speak to you of his plans for the meeting this morning?”

“No,” he sulked. “What of it?”

Kieran laid out his brother’s strategy to Mark, who was left gaping in open mouth astonishment. “Julian planned this?” Mark asked in disbelief.

“Why are you surprised? Have you not seen this potential in him?”

Mark had, and it scared him a little. This was the type of machination worthy of the fae, the pulling of strings behind closed doors, the machinations and plottings. It was the pushing and pulling of fate’s strings to align them with how you wanted to create and shape your world. Sometimes Mark thought there might have been a mistake, and that Julian was perhaps the one born of fae blood rather than himself, for Mark had no liking for politics—he’d rather have ridden in the Hunt.

The last few nights it had called to him, so he wanted to go and forget his life here with nothing but pain and grief. That was until Kieran had come. He didn’t feel the need with Kieran here, and it made him wonder how much of his affection for the Hunt was due to his affection for Kieran. But, even as he rode with the Hunt, he’d never forgotten his family and the pain of losing them was harsher than the freedom of open skies. All of his family needed him now, and Mark had made a solemn vow to himself to be there, however they needed him.

“What do the other Downworlders say? What do you say? Are they even considering this?”

“If your brother does as he thinks he can, that means I would be free from the Hunt. I think he is right, that Gwyn will agree. I will be free. Neither of us, prisoners.”    

Mark was bemused. “Tell me you will not join simply to have an opportunity to court me.”

Kieran’s expression, the hardness of his two-toned eyes, the flash of anger on the hard planes of his face was an answer.

“You would! Kieran, you will be making a pact for your people. You cannot do it for any other reason than for what is best for them.”

“You are right. This pact would be what is best for them. I do not want to be in a position to play politics, like you. I would choose to ride with the Hunt, over this representative position Julian is offering. I do not want it. But, I will take it, and be glad of it if the reward is freedom for my people from the Cold Peace—and a chance to love you.” Kieran had gone to Windspear, brushed his coat. The horse whinnied in pleasure. They would ride the sky together soon. They both needed it. He wanted desperately to ride with Mark again. With Cristina.

“It is not just you I wish to court, but Cristina too. The two of you together,” he said boldly.

Mark felt a thrill inside him, a low flame in his groin whenever Kieran spoke these kinds of endearments and plans. Mark was not so sure how Cristina would feel about his intentions, though.

“Cristina has wanted an ending to the Cold Peace. It seems Julian has found a way. Do you think she would even join us?” Mark asked.

The question was not what Kieran expected. He frowned, “The ending of the Cold Peace is what she wants, yet she did seem unhappy by what he proposed. I do not understand this. Not only does it make sense, it offers protection to you and Helen. How could she not want this?” Kieran remembered what she cautioned him about, after the meeting and before going to finding Mark: “Julian is making a lot of promises—please be careful. You are not free from the Hunt yet.”

Mark sighed. He hated politics. “It’s the idea of severing ties with the Clave. The Clave is the center of all of Shadowhunters, to renounce it is like going against the edict of the Angels themselves.”

“Even when the Clave is unjust and cruel?” Kieran asked.

“All of Nephilim is a family, and the Clave is our mother and father. We would be cast out, alone in the world. _Lex Malla, Lex Nulla_ and I will be glad to be free of it, but my family goes with me, so I am not truly alone. Her mother is the Head of the Mexico Institute, a member of the oldest families. I do not know if she will join with us—to ask means that she gives up her family.”

“She will have a new one in you, and the Blackthorns.”

Kieran kept surprising him—just how far did he see this ‘courting’ going? “You have never had a loving family, they are not replaceable Kieran.”

He thought on this. “So, you believe she will choose to remain with the Clave?”

“I do not know. I will not fault her the choices she makes. It is a difficult one, nor have the others agreed to my brother’s mad plan.”

“Julian said he has contingencies. He will not let the Clave have you, nor Helen.”

“That worries me most of all—I have never seen my brother so broken or desperate. Emma is not here and he’s yet to tell me why she left. He has more secrets. He’s called a family meeting of Blackthorn family business. Perhaps he will tell us more then.”

“Yes. He said he wants me there, does this means he considers me family now too, as your lover? Am I forgiven?”

“ _What?”_ Mark took a moment to absorb that. “That may be a presumptuous thought. Why don’t we wait to see what he says? It is probably to discuss me and Helen.”

“Regardless of politics, we will find a way. I have that freedom now, that you thought was important.” He grabbed Mark cupping his face for a lingering kiss. His lips were firm and caressing and Mark felt desire loosing once again. “My choice is the same. You. Always you.”

Mark was quiet. “And Cristina?”

“I want her too,” Kieran said, no doubt in his mind. Kieran’s determination was a beautiful thing.  “Both of you. I want us together to seduce her. Convince her what she will be losing if she stays with the Clave.”

“That’s not fair to her.”

Kieran barked in laughter, his eyes lighting with merriment. “Since when has fairness played into anything. We make our own fairness in every fight we choose. Will it be fair for her, for us to do nothing, to keep from her the possibility of the three of us? I think in some ways you have a point, that our relationship did not entirely work, that there was too much harshness between us. Maybe that was from the environment of surviving in the Hunt—maybe it was part of who we are. I believe her spirit of compassion, her gentleness and honesty, balances us both. Tell me what you think. And be honest.”

He was the most relaxed Mark had ever seen him, easy with himself, confidence bordering on arrogance. He was an aphrodisiac. Kieran’s desire was a punch to the chest, he swallowed hard, his mind salivating with the image of three of them together in knotted pleasure. Cristina’s golden thighs, wrapped around his waist, while Kieran stood behind him—he cleared his throat, trying to wrestle control back, but Kieran probably could already smell the burst of desire on him.

“You tell me what I want to hear, perhaps your words are even better than my thoughts. Does she want us though Kier?” For so long Mark felt as though Shadowhunters hated him for his faerie ancestry while the faeries hated him for his Nephilim blood. He was not good enough for either, despised by both. Would a woman who once known such compassion for a boy stolen away, be compassionate enough to maybe love both sides of him? To even hope, felt like a weakness.

“I think there is only one way to find out. We seduce her together. Convince her there needn’t be a choice, at least between us,” Kieran promised.

~~~

They’d gathered together in the conference room. For so long Julian had been waiting for a day to be reunited with Mark and Helen, to have his family together and whole. He tried to think back to the last time his family had been complete—it must have been right after Tavvy’s birth.

He thought of his youngest brother. At least Julian had some kind of childhood, albeit a very short lived one—Tavvy’s life would forever be shadowed by death, destruction and loss from the time he was a baby. From the time he was two, his life was irrevocably changed, enough so that he didn’t even know what normal was like, even though Julian had struggled to do his best for him every day.  He’d never remember what their mother looked like, nor their father. And the memories that Julian wished Tavvy would forget, were the same ones that haunted his own nightmares. Tavvy had never slept well after witnessing the blood ravaged streets of Alicante, and the murdered children in the Accords Hall.

Julian remembered that day all too well, himself. It haunted him, too. Maybe this _parabatai_ curse was some kind of divine retribution, punishment for the fact that he’d killed his father. Maybe it was true that their family was cursed. He tried to shake the dread off, but he’d the habit now of mentally counting everyone. So, he searched for Livvy. For Emma. And a part of him still couldn’t believe that neither of them were there.

But, there were others, now part of the Blackthorn family, that hadn’t been there before. Aline, Diana, Kit. They’d chosen to entwine their lives with the Blackthorns. Even Kieran was here. Julian wasn’t thrilled about that, but he did trust the Faerie Prince to protect Mark if the time came. That was the _only_ reason he was there. He was grateful to them, for loving his family enough to stand with them through everything. But, the changing family dynamics were discombobulating—like being on a ship in rough surf, where a rogue wave could knock him off balance and into the ocean depths, at any given time. Without Emma, he didn’t know if he’d find a way to keep his balance. They’d always hung on to each other. _Always_.

But, he had to do this on his own, so when everybody finally got seated, he started: “We as a family, are going to need to make some choices. Having Mark and Helen back—it was supposed to be a reunion. This is more like a war council than a family meeting, and I can’t tell you how very sorry I am for that.”

Julian began by recapping the earlier Downworlder meeting. “There is a chance they won’t agree to this, we need to be prepared to go off on our own if they don’t.”

Mark was grinning broadly. “Lex Malla, Lex Nulla. I hadn’t thought of just throwing _all_ the laws out, but now you can be with Emma.”

Julian froze.

“What do you mean he can finally be with Emma?” Dru asked baffled, but she was a quick thinker.

All eyes were on him, now. He’d have to remember to thank Mark for this later.

“You and Emma?” Dru asked flabbergasted. She wasn’t the only one. Helen and Aline hadn’t known either. Diana looked troubled, poised to give him another lecture. Ty hadn’t looked up from an invisible point on the table, but his hand went to rubbing his chest. It was the same spot Livvy— _No, he couldn’t think of that. If he did, he couldn’t make it through this._

“Yeah, Dru. Me and Emma. We’re in love with each other, and have been for a while now.”

He finally said it.

He’d finally said it aloud to his family.

Her mouth dropped open, eyes huge. “But I thought… but, your _parabatai_. You’re not supposed to be like that that—its forbidden,” she looked around for something and her face fell when she realized Livvy wasn’t there. “Did Livvy know? Did everybody know this but me?”

The entire family took a collective breath. _Livvy_.

“No,” Ty said. “She didn’t. Neither did I.” He was stiff, his free hand began to flutter. The pup on his lap woke up, his ears perking and whined some. Ty, very painstakingly stopped the hand movement and instead stroked the dog’s head. His other hand wouldn’t leave his chest.

“We first tried to hide it from ourselves, because you’re right Dru—It’s against the law and there are consequences,” Julian said trying to maintain a calm he didn’t feel.

“How could we not know this? How long has this been going on?” Dru asked looking a bit betrayed.

“I did not know about this either, Dru,” Helen said glaring at him, her glance was moving between him and Mark. She looked at him accusingly, and he mentally prepared himself to be scolded again. Twice in as many days.

“Diana said when you’re too close to things you can’t see them the way they are. Like an optical illusion, if you step far enough away the entire image changes. _Parabatai_ are already really close to each other—maybe there’s not much of a difference,” Ty said. “Diana, did you know?”

Diana’s face turned the color of ash. “No, Ty,” she said. “No, I didn’t know. But, I should have.”

It was the most Ty had spoken and while Julian was grateful he was engaged, he was a little worried with how enthusiastic he was petting the dog. He raised an eyebrow to Kit, who took his hand. Ty let him, and it disappeared under the table.

Dru wasn’t letting this go. “I’m so confused. First Arthur, and then Emma was dating Mark—“

Kieran stood stiffly. “Emma and Mark were dating?”

It was Mark’s turn to look uncomfortable. “No one would think that about Emma and Julian together, if she were dating me,” Mark replied. “She asked it as a favor from me, this ruse, to protect Julian from the Clave.” It sounded as if he thought this a great deception and was proud to have participated in such a master plan. That wasn’t exactly how it happened, but Julian wouldn’t burst his belief.              

“So, _you_ knew,” Dru accused Mark. “Wait—like how far have things gone between you two, like is she pregnant? Was this whole thing with Mark so you guys could pass the baby off as being his, like in a soap opera?” Dru squeaked. She sounded very excited in a horror story kind of way.

_Soap opera?_ Julian was a good actor, but getting that question from Dru was beyond awkward. His cheeks flamed. It brought back to Julian’s mind the morning on the beach when he panicked because he hadn’t thought of birth control. The irony was he’d have given a piece of his soul for her to be carrying his child. “No, Dru, she isn’t pregnant. And I’m not going into any further details with you. That’s private, okay?”

She didn’t look mollified, her brain still too excited by this news. Maybe she thought there was a happily ever in all of this. “By the Angel Jules, did you just create a revolution just so you could be with Emma? That is so romantic.”

He groaned. “There’s more going on that just me and Emma, Dru. Being in love with your _parabatai_ is more complicated than the law—and I needed to find a way to keep Mark and Helen safe, too.”

Helen looked at him shrewdly. “I think I knew you loved her, but I didn’t think Emma’s heart would turn that way.”

Julian looked at his sister, very annoyed. “Thank you, Helen. I love you too,” Julian said trying for a Jace level of sarcasm.

“That’s not what I meant,” she said giving him a playful swat.

“Why?” Ty interrupted.

“Why did I fall in love with Emma?” Julian asked.

“No, why the Clave law? You said consequences,” Ty asked.

Now it was Julian’s turn to look like he was facing a greater demon going into battle unarmed. Julian saw Kit stiffen with the oddest look, like he was prepared to tackle Ty to the ground at any moment.

“You’re right Tiberius,” Julian said carefully. “It is one of the oldest laws of the Clave and they do have a reason behind it, and it is an ugly reason.”

Julian went on to tell the whole truth of the curse to everyone in the room. He did not sugar coat it and left nothing out. Like his confession to Emma and Mark about the situation with Arthur, he wasn’t entirely sure what to expect. They had ample reason to condemn him, and the bad decisions that he’d been making.  Kit had taken Ty’s hand and started rubbing it in a way so much like Livvy had done, but Ty’s agitation was a touchable thing. He’d started rocking in his chair. The puppy startled and jumped down. Dru came over and put her hand on his shoulder.

Mark looked like he wanted to throw up. He was up and pacing in agitation, and Kieran watched him with deep concern. “Emma didn’t tell me that,” he whispered. “If she had, I would have worked harder at my deception.”

“It wouldn’t have worked Mark, I’m not ever going to stop loving her. I’m just not—that love is too much a part of who I am.”

Dru looked devastated, like given one piece of good news only to have it rudely and tragically pulled away. “So, what are you and Emma supposed to do? She’s going into _exile?”_ she asked in disbelief.

“It is why she left—to see if Jem could perform the ceremony. Robert Lightwood agreed to help us, but with him dead we can’t trust our fate to another Inquisitor. But, Jem said that we are too far along for the Exile rune to work.”

He went on to explain what he knew of the Silent Brothers and Iron Sisters, and how they wanted to recruit him and Emma because of what they could do. He didn’t really consider it an option, but it might give his family piece of mind to know there were other avenues out there.

“I’d really like to not go that path, for obvious reasons,” he admitted. He needed to see this through to whatever end—all options, no holds bar: “The Seelie Queen says she knows how to break the bond, I don’t want that information to go past this room,” he warned. “Emma won’t do it because there are high prices to be paid, and we don’t trust the Queen.”

Mark look astounded. “There is no price greater than your life, Emma’s life.”

“I haven’t discounted her offer, Mark, but I want to see if there are other ways. But time _is_ running against us. Ideally, I’d like to break the curse, not the bond.”

He needed to give his family hope. He needed to give himself hope too, and the best way for that was to give them something active to do. “Magnus, Jem, and Tessa they’ll be working on this—along with work on the Black Volume. Ty, I know this is a lot to ask of you, but if you can, I want you to help them researching books.”

And maybe one of them _would_ be the one to solve this. Julian considered Ty a genius for the exact reasons the Clave despised his differences. It was a gift, his impressive mind, his ability to focus and the way his brain found patterns and answers in things that didn’t make sense to other people. Maybe this could give Ty something else to focus on, keep his mind occupied from the constant pain of not having Livvy with him.

He didn’t say anything, but just kind of collapsed from his rocking to slump in his chair. He was stared at nothing. But Kit nodded, rubbing Ty’s shoulder. “I’ll help too, even if that means being Watson to your Sherlock. I’m volunteering to be Watson, to your Sherlock. This is the most important mystery for us to solve. Livvy would want that, right Ty? She’d want us to do everything we can to help Julian and Emma—to solve this mystery. Dru too, right? She wouldn’t want us to give up on them.”

Bless, Kit Herondale. Dru hadn’t left Ty’s side. “I know I’m not Livvy, but I do want to help, too.” Kit put his other arm around her shoulder. It was eerie how it seemed Livvy was still breathing between them. Julian blinked back tears.

“Who else in the Clave knows about this?” Aline asked.

“The Inquisitor didn’t. I don’t know if your mother, as Consul, knows about this, or if it is something the Silent Brothers and Iron Sisters take care of themselves. Telling you the truth puts you in danger. This knowledge is absolutely forbidden. If the Clave found out you knew, they would probably try to hire Magnus to wipe all your memories. Hell, I wouldn’t put it past them to summon Asmodeus himself to turn everyone here into amnesiac zombies. It is that important, this secret.”

It was strange that he didn’t underestimate his family to love him any less, or to go to any lengths for him, in the same way that he’d done for them. Maybe that was part of being a family. Julian remembered Emma’s words, what she wanted him to promise her. _Please, let them help you._

He felt his throat closing up though, practically choking on the words. “I need all of your help. The family’s help.”

“Anything, Julian,” Helen spoke for them all. “What else do you need from us?”

“You are my family and I love you to know end, but I can’t stay with you, now,” Julian took a shuddering breath. “I need for you to remember what father was like after he turned Endarkened. I need you to remember what it was like when he broke into the Accords Hall—that it wasn’t him anymore. You all need to be prepared for that to happen to me—that there may come a day when you can’t trust me anymore. Be prepared to run from me if that happens. And I want promises from you Kieran, if that day happens you will do whatever you have to do, to pull my stubborn brother out of the path of danger. Aline for you to do the same with Helen. And all of you, especially you Diana, to keep the younger ones safe—from me. From Emma.”

He’d never forgiven himself for killing his father. It had to be done, and he’d do it again—but he’d be damned if he ever made his family have to make that same choice. Maybe the _parabatai_ curse was fates way of chasing him down, but he’d do whatever was necessary to keep his family safe, and Magnus said they still had time. They had to make the most of what they had left—like they’d done when they realized their mother was dying.

“Oh, Julian,” Helen whispered in heart wrenching sorrow.

Nobody else said a word. 

Julian turned to her. “If I can’t be there to raise them Helen, it has to be you. Free from Clave, I’m asking this of you, to take care of them the way you once asked me.”

“Of course, I will,” she told him, hugging him tight. Her look was defiant though, “It will not come to that though.”

“And I will too,” Aline said coming up to Helen’s side. They were united together like he and Emma had always been. Helen wouldn’t be by herself if the worse came to pass.

Julian smiled his thanks to Aline. “We’re not there yet. It’s only a contingency right now. Emma and I are going into the Unseelie Court to see what we can find there. If we go mad, that’s the place to do it.”              

“So, you can kill all my people?” Kieran asked in a soft tone that was anything but casual.

Julian had forgotten he was there. But he wouldn’t back down from the question and looked him directly in the eye. “They could always help us, and prevent that from happening. But yes, if I have to go on a mad killing rampage it is better to do it among enemies than friends.”

Kieran’s hair turned into a stormscape of black and navy and white, waves crashing on rocks. It was too many colors at once to ever paint into a single scene. The room felt colder, goosebumps prickled his skin and Julian wouldn’t have been surprised to see a crackle of lightning on the ceiling. Wild magic was in the air, along with the smell of salt and ocean surrounding them. He stormed out of the room. Mark was about to go after him.

“Mark, not yet. Now comes the hard part.”

~~~

“What do you mean, Jules?” Dru asked. “What could be harder than what you’ve told us?”

Julian rose to look out the window, his eyes travelled to Tavvy, an innocent boy playing with a new puppy, ignorant of their decisions that would so totally affect his life.            

“I keep coming back to Tavvy, what needs to be done to protect him. What is best for him—he’s already lost too much, and how that’s going to change him, shape him into who he’ll grow up be, someday.” He turned back to his family. “Can we all agree, he’s got to be the priority here?”

Everybody nodded as Julian knew they would.

“I’ve given a lot of thought about what I would and wouldn’t do, how far I’d be willing to go in order to protect all of you, because in all honesty, sometimes I’m not sure of what I’m capable of. I don’t know if that is the curse, or if I’m thinking of the curse as an excuse to justify my darker thoughts. Emma’s been my anchor, always—the idea of her not being there to—“ he broke off suddenly.

It wasn’t fair to her, this idea that she was the one somehow responsible for saving him. That wasn’t something she could do for him, that was something he had to do for himself. He had to be worthy of her. That was something he didn’t think Malcolm ever understood.

He played a hypothetical conversation in his head: “I love you Emma, so much that I tortured you with unimaginable pain to bring you back to life just so we could be together again. Yes, I know I didn’t even bother to ask you if that was something that you wanted, but we’re together now. I only had to spearhead a murderous cult and murder a whole bunch of innocent people—the kid got away, though. That’s okay, I found someone to replace him.”

Emma would hate him and she would be right to.

“There have been times where I thought I’d burn the world down to keep everybody I love safe. But, I don’t think I’ll have to be the one to light the match—I think if we don’t figure out the Black Volume, it’s going to happen anyway, without my help.”

He looked around the room to make sure he had everybody’s attention. He needn’t worried, they were all as worried as he was.

“But, Tavvy’s out there playing in the green grass, with his new puppy. If the world burns—that’s the world he’ll have to live in. Tavvy wouldn’t be safe in that world—he’s already seen the blood-soaked streets of Alicante, an Accords Hall full of slaughtered children. He’s already lost enough of his family…I don’t want him to lose his world too.” It was a confession that seemed to be ripped out of him.

Julian pushed away from the window and steeled himself. “While I’m away, I’ve asked Diana to be the guardian to the younger kids.”

“What?” Helen asked turning pale. “Why would you ask Diana, I’m finally back. You just asked me—”

“Helen, whether you like it or not you’re the best person suited to study the wards, and figure out what kind of impact the circles are having,” Julian said. This was where he didn’t like to be ruthless. Especially not towards his own family, but he’d meant it when he said this was a war council and hard decisions needed to be made.

“You want me to go back to Wrangel Island?” Helen asked in utter disbelief.

“New maps need to be redrawn. When that’s done, we may find out that the world’s seat isn’t even there, but until we do, my recommendation is that you form a Downworlder contingent to go back and secure Wrangel Island from the Clave.”

“How can you even ask me to go back, Julian? How am I supposed to leave you again? Especially now.”

It was a good question. How could he be that cruel to his own sister? “Helen, if the wards fail, then the world will burn. I won’t make you go, that’s your choice. But, I’ll ask you this: Do you trust the Clave to have any competence in guarding the wards?”

Her eyes narrowed on him. She knew he was playing dirty.

“And I’ll stipulate that I only think you should go if you can find a warlock to build you a portal out of there. Connect it with L.A. and you can visit the kids anytime you want. But, I think you need to be unencumbered to travel at a moments notice. If you can find an alternative, or can find someone you trust and can do your job just as well, then by all means stay. But, the kids need consistency. They know Diana, they can keep up with their education and training—keep to a routine.” He said that because of Ty. Ty would need as much normalcy as possible. “It’s not ideal, but again, just till this is over.”

None of them knew how long that would be. It could be done quickly if the Black Volume was easily recovered, or it could mean years. Helen looked like she wanted to cry, even though she was hiding it well, and Aline stood next to her glaring daggers at Julian.

“We’re going back to Los Angeles?” Kit said, trying to break up some of the tension.

Mark looked like he wanted to take Julian out for some training time that would leave him battered and bruised for the next month. “Nor am I suitable to care for the children?”

Julian sighed. “As Kieran is the representative for the Faerie here, I need you and Cristina to go to the Seelie Court as the new Alliance representatives. I need eyes and ears there. I don’t trust the Queen. You can visit with your aunt, Cristina can play diplomacy—“

“You wish me to spy,” he accused. The words were spit out as if it were a foul and dirty thing.

“Officially, Jace and Clary went to the courts to look for that secret faerie weapon that Sebastian left behind. Officially, that will be why you’re sent by the new Alliance. But, they know binding spells too—you know that first hand from your experience with Cristina, and your aunt is a healer—you may be able to find something to help us with the _parabatai_ bond.” Why was is so damn hard to ask for help? “I do trust you, or I wouldn’t be asking you for this.”

Mark lowered his head in contrition. “I had not thought that far ahead. It is something I wish for because I’ve made a promise to not leave the family again. It is not something that I had thought—that I would be more good to you away.”

“I’ve made promises, too. To Emma—in our _parabatai_ oaths, that we’d never leave each other,” Julian told Mark. “She’s thousands of miles away, but we’re just as united in our purpose. That’s not leaving someone. That’s not breaking an oath.”

But, Mark _was_ right. It would hurt the younger kids to see him leave again. “Ty, Dru—do you understand this?”

Ty went back to rocking, and it fell to Livvy’s shoulders. “Yeah, I do. I don’t like it, wish there was another way, but you did say this was about hard decisions.”

Julian hugged her, and whispered in her ear, “Sucks being an adult, doesn’t it?” She almost burst into tears, and he didn’t let her go, holding her through the worst of it.

Finally, he knelt before Ty. “Ty, this is one of those times I need you to look at me.” He gave his brother a few moments, but Ty lifted his head, finally made eye contact—gray mirrors reflecting Julian’s own pain. They were haunted, but there was also resolve. He nodded acknowledgement.

The Blackthorns were about to be scattered on the wind, but they were still united, tied with their bonds of love.


	14. Blighted Circles

It was near the border with Canada. Helen said it was one of the first circles that appeared on the map, about four months ago, and Julian was curious to see how large it was. Had it grown and expanded, like the beginning of a malignant and cancerous tumor on the world? Or was it the madness teasing the edges of his mind to make him believe in a worldwide cataclysmic threat.

Their little group which was just supposed to be a scouting mission, a way for the Downworlders to see first-hand the effects of this dark magic. But somehow their group had ballooned in numbers. Nobody wanted to miss out, and it was a lot of threads to manage all at once. The only ones not there were Simon and Isabelle. They’d been appointed the temporary heads of the NY Institute while Jace and Clary were away, and needed to get back before anyone noticed them missing and started asking questions.

Julian wasn’t sure how to take it, that the others seemed to believe in him. As much as he hated the idea of an apocalyptic world, he _needed_ to be right on this. If it wasn’t as he suspected, then all his plans of unification would be that much harder to pull off. It was easy to unite when one had a common enemy. And he wanted this trump piece of the puzzle as leverage, before the Clave meeting ended today with the vote on the new Inquisitor. They were eight hours ahead, so it didn’t give them much time to investigate.

They had to wait for night though, so Lily could travel safely—but he pushed their timeline out as far as he could. Closer to dawn. He hoped in those extra hours the Downworlders would hear back from their people. Magnus had more on his plate than any of them, and he looked exhausted. He knew the warlock had spoken to the Spiral Labyrinth about the pages of texts Julian had given him, but he wasn’t too revealing as to what Lilith’s children thought of the idea of breaking with the Accords.

He’d spoken with Lily privately for a long time today—he thought she might be their best source for understanding necromantic magic. Lily didn’t know much about necromancy, though. She wasn’t even sure if their living undead state was a form of that kind of particular magic, a demon infection, or a combination of both. There were of course older vampires, even rumors of some of Vlad’s original court still surviving who might know the truth; but for the majority of vampires, their origins were in clouded in just as much mystery as the Fae or the Werewolves.

He’d asked Magnus about the vampires, and his response was: “The Clave keeps their secrets, and the Clans keep theirs. I knew a vampire once, loved her through the centuries—she was powerful, but she was also a nitwit and wouldn’t have understood their magic past how it could be used to gain her greater power.” The topic made Magnus very cranky, so Julian had left him alone after that.

Maia had tried to contact the wolf packs that made the area their home. They were reclusive, she said, preferring to stay to the natural wilds of nature rather than integrating with mundanes. No one responded to the message. She didn’t know if that was because they didn’t want to be involved, or because something happened to them. So she brought Bat, and they planned on a quick search and reconnaissance.

Julian would have liked another warlock to accompany them because Magnus still looked very sick. He didn’t want the responsibility if Magnus keeled over at any moment. Alec was taking care of him and so Jace came as backup, as _parabatai_ do. Clary arrived to make the portal, and she’d brought Emma with her.

Julian knew she was there. His very being followed her every movement, all the while refusing to look at her. To do so would break him. She was his compass rose and he felt the pull of her as sure as a magnet was drawn to true north. He felt her alive in his bones and his blood. It was such an intense relief just to know that she was close.

Her hair was blindingly bright against the black gear she’d changed into—it kept catching the edges of his peripheral vision. Couldn’t everybody see how it glowed and shone brighter than Cortana, like angel’s wings? If he wanted to paint the color now, only the golden ichor on angel’s blood itself could have come close to capturing it. It probably wasn’t healthy, this need in him to elevate her to something he wanted to worship. He didn’t know how to stop it, though.

Having her close lifted his spirit, bringing a respite from the pressures and burdens. He could breathe easier, the bond easing against the stretch of being pulled apart. She was his reprieve against all the stresses and unknowns he was battling. He knew he shouldn’t want her again, knew he needed to be away from her, but he kept reaching out, invisible fingers meeting her soul. He tested it, writing letters out, like how they used to: H-O-W-A-R-E-Y-O-U.

He saw her stiffen, but she didn’t turn his way, even though ignoring him wasn’t going to help anything. _You don’t need to spell, I can hear you._

It was Julian’s turn to stiffen in surprise. He tested it again: _That may come in handy_. And _felt_ her smirk.

_Maybe I don’t want you reading my mind, for you to know just hot you look right now—that five o’clock shadow thing you’ve got is really doing it for me. We’ll never get anything done._

He burst into laughter, and all eyes turned to him. Clary cleared her throat. “Emma, we all heard that.”   

Her mouth gaped open in mortification.  Jace looked very perplexed as if finally starting to put some of the more obscure puzzle pieces together. “But, you’re _parabatai_ —“ he started only to be elbowed hard in the ribs by Clary. Whatever else he was about to say died there. He looked to Alec, who just gave him a shrug.       

Emma was busy passing out the steel and iron weapons she managed to swipe from the L.A. Institute in case their seraph blades failed. Clary had Heosphoros, but Jace took a set of daggers she said were made by a descendent of Wayland the Smith. There had been some joking about Kit, and Julian heard Jace’s sarcastic voice, but was tuned out, and didn’t know exactly what they were talking about.

Helen and Aline came to pull Emma away from Jace, and his sister embraced her in an affectionate hug. Julian was glad to see that, had held a worry in the back of his mind that Helen might blame Emma for the _parabatai_ curse.

Kieran had insisted on coming. Julian didn’t think he could really add anything and he didn’t think it was necessary for him to be there, but with every other downworlder represented, to tell him there was already too many coming would be perceived as disingenuous to the Faeries. The Alliance was not yet decided, and he wouldn’t do anything to put that possibility in jeopardy. The Alliance was still their best hope of offering protection to Helen and Mark.

Julian didn’t believe Kieran had yet to forgive him about what he’d said in their last conversation. Bridges would need to be mended, but even as Julian rewound their earlier argument, he didn’t know if there was any way he could have changed the sentiment to be any more diplomatic. He only hoped that Kieran respected him as a ruthless truth teller because that would buy him more capital in the long run—more than anything else. The irony was not lost on him given how often he lived and breathed lies.

Mark and Cristina came because there was no good argument for them to stay behind—and they could keep Kieran occupied. Right now, Mark and Kieran were staring identical daggers at Diego who was in a very animated discussion with Cristina. It was interesting to see Kieran looked just as upset as Mark.

Bringing Diego in from the Scholomance was a high risk call. He’d had a chance to speak with Cristina about it, and in the end took her recommendation. Julian confided to her of how the Centurions had already cornered Emma once: and while Cristina was very concerned by that turn of events, she believed that Diego had it in him to set aside the edict to bring her into the Clave. Diego, more than anyone knew what Zara and Manu were capable of. He’d witnessed the Council disaster too, and understood the Cohort’s witch hunt of Emma and the Blackthorns.

He hadn’t gotten the entire story from Cristina, only the barest sketches, but it sounded like Diego had already gone undercover to infiltrate the Cohort.

That being said, they were still very cautious—He wasn’t told their location, and Magnus checked him for trackers—rune or magic.

He wasn’t counting on Diego’s support. They hadn’t even told them about their plans to break from the Clave. But Julian wanted him there so when they reported to the Clave, they would have a Centurion with a sterling reputation as a witness to the devastation of the Circles. What Julian really hoped for was a contingent of the Centurions to break off and secure the Scholomance. Those resources, especially the libraries would be helpful. But even if he didn’t, he thought if Cristina asked for something specific Diego would make sure she got it. And having someone who might be a willing to pass information from within the Clave would be helpful too: He could work with either scenario. Julian hoped by including him, it would work as a good faith gesture for no matter how things turned out.

Diego said something to Cristina which made her laugh, and Julian swore he heard Kieran growl. He loved Mark, but Julian did not envy the thorns his brother faced when involving Cristina into the mix with Kieran. And he had to hear _that_ from Helen. He’d been so bitter with the idea of Mark and Emma together, he’d been completely blind to the fact that there was something going on between him and Cristina.

Was it possible for any of the Blackthorns to have uncomplicated normal relationships?

He doubled checked to make sure their team was ready. Maia had a token that would allow them a projection into the Council meeting. Jia had given it to her years ago—and it was only meant for emergencies, but it was a godsend. They didn’t have another golden acorn. Julian had added that the shopping list of demands he’d make of the Seelie Queen. 

The Council would be called into session by now. Julian figured they had about an hour before the final vote on Inquisitor. Aline had surreptitiously contacted her father. Patrick told him Jia was devastated, and they feared Jia might be arrested as well. It sounded like the Cohorts next move would be to clean house—eliminate any voices of dissent against them.

Patrick told Aline to hide with Helen as long as she could, that it was a given on this tidal swell of hate and greed for power, Horace Dearborn would be a shoe in for the Inquisitor position. There just weren’t enough Shadowhunters to turn the tide and vote against him.

“Let’s go,” he announced. And he watched very closely as Clary drew the rune to make the portal.

~~~

Clary opened the portal, and was the first to go through, but something must have gone terribly wrong because she felt her body slam against some kind of barrier—then the weight of falling through air. She’d barely had time to tuck and roll before landing on a very thin layer of pine needles scrabbling over jagged stone.

Landing hard, the breath was knocked out of her. She stayed low, trying to find precious breath as she scanned her surroundings. What had happened?

She was in the middle of a forest, impossibly tall pine trees surrounded her. The perfume of pine was subtle, laced with another smell. It was an acrid smell, pungent with death. Not of decomposing things, that had the terrible odor of life still to it, but the smell of death without the decay. Stale. It was night time, the atmosphere ominous and eerily quiet. It seemed like a normal forest, tall pine trees creating a canopy overhead, but the darkness was all wrong. It was like greyscale at nighttime. A haze of fog mixed with dirt and ash coated the freezing ground. Clary couldn’t see well in this dark, her night vision rune must not be working.

Did she even portal to the right place?

A blanket of dense clouds smothered the tops of the trees overhead. Lightning flashed like a warning, illuminating the sky overhead as one giant bruise. Thunder clapped. Close. She felt the hum of electricity on the fine hairs of her arms and neck, and she rolled to the ground as instinct took over and a lightning bolt hit a nearby tree. Ears ringing, she gasped to the taste of dirt and ozone. Splinters the size of rocks rained down—shrapnel of stones and detritus of the earth and forest floor pummeled her body.

She was alone.

She felt cotton in her mouth. This wasn’t exactly like her dream, but close enough. She’d thought she’d be ready when death came for her, but she felt a surge of panic. Not today, _please_!

_You’re acting like a martyr_ , Emma had said. _You’re not dead yet, so stop it._

No, she wasn’t dead yet, and found a renewed strength. She wasn’t going to beg death to spare her another day—she was going to do everything in her power to see Jace again.

She pulled her witchlight from her pocket, but it’s illumination was weak and flickering, like a battery dying on a flashlight. Her freezing breath gave more light, her exhales coming out in puffs of white smoke. Yes, they were in the northern latitudes, but it was late summer, the climate here shouldn’t have been _this_ cold.

She heard a whistle, and felt relief that someone else made it through. _What happened_? The last time she’d had a portal go this wrong she ended up in Lake Lyn. What happened to everyone else who was behind her. Was everyone okay?

It wasn’t a long walk, and she wasn’t tired, she trained too well for that, but she could also feel that her body wasn’t as limber or as strong, the lethargic pull reminded her of being on Edom. She shivered at the thought.  

So, maybe she hadn’t been off then in making the portal. Maybe it was only that this place was affecting how the magic worked. Maybe they’d been knocked outside of the range of the circle. Julian’s suspicions might be right. That was a lot of maybes and mights—they needed to find more concrete answers. Something was very definitely wrong here, though.

She followed some new noises, grunting and cursing to find Alec. “Where are the others?” she asked in a croaked voice. The cold and dust made her throat dry and she tried coughing a few times to clear it, but managed only to make it worse. 

Both hands cupped around his mouth Alec shouted, “Magnus!” He looked panicked.

“We’ll find him,” she hoped. “If we can find Maia she can track him by scent. Jace? Can you feel him?”

Fingers between his lips he whistled out again. Clary wished she had that particular talent.

Lily was the next to find them, her speed fast enough she appeared like a vision from thin air. 

“What do you sense Lily?” Clary asked.

“It’s strange—all my senses are heightened. I smell the life of the forest, the pine, the earth, hear some heartbeats from larger game and faster ones of birds like they are trying to escape. I smell death.” She shuddered. “I smell death, but not a kind of death I’ve ever smelled before.” She grew quiet, concentrating. “Blood. I smell blood.” She nodded at the direction and like a stampede upending the silence of the forest, they chased after to find the source.

~~~

Kieran had not liked the ideas of portals, at least not those made by a Shadowhunter. It was like an ingrained prejudice that the Nephilim were using a magic that did not belong to them. It probably stemmed from the fact it was a new discovery on their part, and as of yet, only one girl could do it—and that only because she had an extra dose of angel blood. But it increased the reach of the Nephilim to hunt and kill. That seemed an inherently unfair advantage—they were already too strong.

Mark had taken one arm as if understanding his hesitation, Cristina the other and they passed through the shimmery light and into hell.

It was a physical pain to come here: like how he imagined falling off Windspear only to plunge hundreds of feet of through the air, until one was slammed against the ocean—body and bones breaking away into pieces. No, he didn’t think he’d portal again. His arm was linked to Mark’s who was rousing from incoherency, but Cristina had been pulled out of reach. He hadn’t been expecting the violence of it, or he would have held her tightly to him through the traveling. They needed to find her.

He panicked for a moment thinking she might be lost in that in-between space of the portal. “Cristina?” he bellowed into the night air. Scanning his surroundings, he didn’t see any of the other travelers of their group either.

Kieran thought he could hear a faint whistle a long way off, and cursed when Diego lumbered into their little clearing. He was hunched over possibly from an injury, possibly from the smack of whatever they’d hit when they arrived. Kieran helped Mark to rise to his feet. Mark shook himself as if awaking from a nightmare.

“Cristina?” Mark mumbled back.

“We were separated. Only Perfect Diego is here.” They could kill him now and claim ignorance when they found his body.

“What went wrong?” Mark asked in exasperation. “Are we even in the right place?”

Kieran felt himself shrug as he let the cold determination of being a hunter settle over him. The mantle was familiar and he felt the rushing thrill of anticipation, the bubbling of his blood, rousing in expectation of battle. Mark stiffened and unconsciously moved behind them. Back to back, they’d often fought together, and Mark was reacting to his mood.

Crackling of leaves and snapping of wood twigs announced the presence of another. It was Bat, the werewolf queen’s consort.

“I think we’ve been scattered somehow,” Diego said, stating the annoyingly obvious.

“Cristina!” Mark shouted into the night. “Julian! Emma! Helen!”

“I heard a whistle, from there,” he pointed. Kieran’s hearing was acute and he stretched his senses only to be met with an absence of sound. They were in nature. A thousand sounds should have filtered through the air, from insects to birds, squirrels to the burrowing creatures of mice and rabbits. The leaves didn’t dare rustle, for there was no breeze. The air was dead here, the wind not willing to touch the air. There was nothing, but a crackle of lighting overhead and a peculiar cold. He didn’t recognize the sky above, and he was grateful Windspear was not here—he would never let him fly in the unnatural storm above.  

In tacit agreement, the four men began trekking in the direction of the whistle. Maybe Cristina was there.

Each of them with their own experience at moving quickly and quietly amongst any environment. But the soundless runes from Mark and Diego must have faded, and even the werewolf was overloud. Scraping shoes, heavy treads, brushes against branches—they were announcing to the forest they were here. Bat sniffed and winced at the smell.

“Can you track any of them?” Mark asked hopefully.

Bat shook his head. “It’s like smoke from a fire, enough that whatever is tainting the air is blocking my ability to smell anything else.”

“What does it smell like to you,” Diego asked. Kieran was annoyed that it was a good question.  

“Chemical smell—Hazmat meets charcoal and ash, like the dead coals of a fire.” Kieran didn’t understand the word ‘hazmat’, but understood the sentiment. Unnatural, as he thought.

“Hell?” Kieran asked.

“Haven’t been there, don’t know,” Bat replied on a shrug.            

Mark pulled his seraph blade and whispered the name of one of his beloved angels. But the blade would not light, and the only visibility in this unnatural darkness was from the lightning deep in the storm clouds above. It was barely enough illumination to light their path through the gnarled forest.

“Is this what the blight is like in Faerie?” Diego asked. “Could Clary have made a mistake and transported us to Faerie?”

“No,” Kieran answered. “Faerie and the mortal world of earth have two very different energies. We are still on earth, but this _is_ reminiscent of the blight. I think this is where we’re supposed to be.”

“When we travelled through areas of Faerie that were infected, those places had been abandoned by the wild fae living there. They could not coexist with this kind of magic,” Mark said.

Bat grunted. “Nor could werewolves. If there was a pack that roamed here, they would have left, it is cold and dark place here—no warmth.” He shivered.

Mark and Kieran who had both flown to the coldest and emptiest places of the hunt, only now realized how cold their surroundings were. It was because of the conditioning of the Hunt that Kieran didn’t realize the effect of the cold on his companions. Diego was shivering, and Bat’s lips were tinged with blue. High above lightening continued to flash and a rolling rumble of thunder drummed the night sky.

“When did you travel to Faerie, Mark?” Diego asked with a casual nonchalance.

Mark gave him a bitter look and didn’t answer. “If it rains, it might clear out this air,” he said instead.

“With our luck, it will be hail,” Bat grunted a nonagreement.

It was Helen and Aline they found next, drawn by the attention of the sounds of their elephant herd. Helen’s face was pinched and Aline smelled of vomit.

“It wasn’t just us then?” Kieran observed. “Any others?”

They both shook their head.

~~~

Julian landed in the jaws of the earth. He’d never had a reaction to a portal like that and his first instinct always was to reach out for Emma, along their bond. And he knew that she was alive.

He couldn’t imagine severing that most precious of links, of waking up one day and not being able to tell if she was alive in the world, if she was hurt. He would pay that price of tiny hooks, shredding his heart to pieces, just for that piece of mind over that of the unknown. 

He waited for the nausea and vertigo to pass and looked up. The trees looked like fangs reaching toward the sky. He tried to move, but his legs were tangled up with gnarled tree roots. The roots were covered in a coating of scaly black cracks. He shook them off and they disintegrated into a pungent black sludge. He pulled a dagger, the weight comforting in his hands as he absorbed this strange new environment.

He’d always thought of forest floors as something spongy, where the accumulated weight of fallen leaves and needles gave a soft bed to the underlying floor. There was none of that softness beneath him, only hard bedrock that made Julian feel a surge of unexpected sympathy for Mark. Julian suspected this was in line with what his brother’s nightly accommodations had been for the past five years living with the Wild Hunt. If Gwyn ever asked dating advice, Julian’s answer would be: get a bed.

The trees swayed above him. They still looked alive, but he’d seen their roots. Like a rotted tooth, their marrow poisoned—they were already dead. Soon, they’d loosen their hold to the earth, and come crashing down in their death throes. 

He took two cleansing breaths before he realized just what a bad idea that was. The stench of the place was making his stomach roil, and he swallowed extra saliva in an attempt not to throw up. Finally, gaining enough control he glanced up, scanning his surroundings for anyone else. The quiet was unnerving. In the distance, he saw a swath of movement, a shiny silvery glint of something.

He chased after it, and came to a sudden halt as an apparition wavered before him. It was a hollow wraith like figure. 

Julian couldn’t make out his grey face—too much was cast in shadows, but his head was crowned in a coronet of gleaming silvered razor wire. He knew the beauty of the pain of those blades. He cut his soul on those blades every day with Emma and was grateful for it. The Seelie Queen had been right in that. Julian drew his seraph blade, calling on _Raphael_ to light—and was met with nothing. The angelic magic was as dead here as the trees. The vision chortled its mirth.

“And so the glory of the Angels fade from this world.” Julian wasn’t scared of this apparition, it wasn’t quite corporeal. It was the curse then, finally sending him hallucinations. “I can taste the curse on your blood. A subtle spice of ambrosia, an appetizer to the coming destruction,” he said.

“Who are you?” Julian’s word came out in a puff of frost. Another reason this apparition wasn’t real—unless he had no breath, he did not seem affected by the physical elements. Not that one would expect an answer from a dream figure, but Julian was curious what messages his mad brain was trying to send him.

“The Nephilim have become victim to their own success. Mundanes have prospered and grown to unbelievable numbers. This world is tantalizing rich and alive with life.” His head was cocked, avid ears listening at something that was beyond Julian’s senses. “It is ripe for the picking. A feast.”

He laughed, icicles down his throat, arrogant and condescending. “Demons are competitive in nature, and opportunistic. When Lilith was here, it kept the others away—none wanted to infringe on her claim. That is not the case now. Tell my son, I look forward to bringing my world here.”

“I’m not a messenger,” Julian said. _And I have no idea who is your son_.

“You have power to mind speak to one such as me. It would be a such shame for you to be so cursed. When no others will help, remember that you should not fear asking for help to ones that will give it.”

Julian may have been looking at an apparition, but it was becoming clear in his mind he was also speaking to a demon. _Which one?_

The scepter laughed, but his head turned in another direction and he faded away before Julian could ask any more questions.

“Julian!” Emma called crashing through the ruined forest.

“Did you see it?” he asked her, flash of panic in his mind. Had it been real, or the madness?

“See what?” she seemed confused. “I don’t know if I could have found you without the bond. I don’t know how long I’ve been out, or where everyone else is,” she said fear edging her voice. “Do you know what happened?”

He shook his head. “No,” he said. “But we should find them right away. The seraph blade won’t light, and this place isn’t just dead—there are things in it.”

Emma’s eyes were wide, Cortana at the ready. “Let’s go.”

~~~

There was a whistle, far in the distance, a human bird call and they headed toward it, finally having a direction. A lightning storm was forming, the smell rich of ozone as blades of lightning formed in the sky. Thunder cracked like a whip against the wind, and Emma’s soul flinched. She tried never to think of the whipping, but for a split second she felt the hot sun on her back and froze waiting for another lash. Every scar was hot on her back, flaring in remembered pain as she _felt_ the bloody whip split her skin open—again and again. She wanted nothing more than crawl into a fetal ball, to somehow protect herself. The lightning cracked again, and she trembled.

It was absurd to be having a panic attack, but Julian somehow understood. He wrapped his arms around her, kneading the curve of her skull. “It’s okay. It’s over,” he said. “It’s this place Emma, that’s making you feel this way. You are so strong, though. Strong enough to survive Iarlath, strong enough to fight.”

Her breath was coming in harsh gasps, her heartbeat galloped and she coughed from the ash laden air. Julian pulled her face into the curve of the neck so all she was breathing was the scent of him. It helped.

“No, I’m not,” she said clinging to him like she wanted to crawl inside him—her home—away from the demons, and the pain, and the curse, and the grief. Tears welled in her eyes. She was ashamed of her weakness.

“I’m with you Emma, take my hand and just follow me okay.”  His thumb traced the contour of her cheek, a living golden blaze that cut through those dark frozen places of wild despair. “I won’t let anything happen to you, but we need to find the others. Clary and Cristina?”

She nodded into his neck. “Mark and Helen.” She squeezed his hand in a death grip and tried not to think as he led the way, over the carcasses of dead and dying vegetation. They must be close to the epicenter of this blight. Ground zero. Her runes would fail here like they did in the Unseelie King’s court. She couldn’t let the fear win. Julian was right. He was with her—she would get through this.

“Up ahead,” Julian said. Emma lifted her head and saw a gathering. It looked like they were the last to the party. They made room for Emma and Julian and what Emma saw was worse than anything Iarlath could have ever done to her.

Magnus lay as if dead in Alec’s arms.


	15. Confluence of Events

Kit knew he needed training, but he hadn’t considered since he was able to hold his own somewhat against Malcolm’s sea demons and the Riders, just how far behind he was. Ty was lean and surprisingly muscular, gangly in a way that made Kit believe in the next year or two he would gain enough height to be as tall as Julian—that is if he decided to ever eat again.

But, Kit hadn’t really considered Ty a fighter in the same way as Julian or Mark. He was more of an intellectual, with his love of mysteries and his serious rockin’ intelligence. But, that must be his own head canon because he’d seen Ty fight against sea demons, in the shadow market, against the Riders, and he knew Ty just as talented—calm and focused almost in an eerie kind of way.

He was wearing earbuds, so Kit couldn’t talk to him and the music was something headbanger and alternative—and loud enough Kit could hear the edgy whine of electric guitar—sounded old school, Nine Inch Nails? Was Ty going to start listening to bands named after demons—I am Satan, Asmodeus X? This was cringe lord of edgy, completely unlike the classical music he usually listened to. The music _did_ match his agitation, though.

Livvy had once said, “He’s good with throwing knives and the quarterstaff. But, he’ll only fight if he wants to.”

But Kit thought Ty liked hand to hand best—impractical as it was against demons. Maybe it was his alternative way of satisfying that need of close skin contact when he had a tendency to reject gentler, more intimate forms, like hugging—never from Livvy, but Livvy wasn’t here. And Kit was freaked because this didn’t feel like a straight up training session. This had a more aggressively violent feel, like the music was somehow saturating his brain, his movements.

Spar, wrestle, roll—Ty had his shirt off and he was slick with sweat—his head off somewhere else—Close contact—jump, hit, slam on mats—Kit hustled, trying to get reflexives fast enough to stop Ty’s onslaught.

Kit’s job was to keep up. He needed the practice. After getting slammed to the ground this last time, his ribs in revolt, he decided to just stay there and relearn to breathe. Ty stormed off and attacked a punching bag. It was a good thing it was reinforced for werewolf strength or he would have pummeled it to shreds.

Something was very wrong with Ty, worse since Julian had left with the others.

Kit didn’t try to stop him, just let him go. A long time later he collapsed, letting the bag take his weight. He was holding onto it the way he used to hug Livvy as if his very life depended on it. His back was heaving in sobs.

Kit rested his hand on Ty’s shoulder, a warning he was there so as to not startle him and carefully removed his earbuds. He didn’t know what to do, embrace him in a pressure hug, or give him space. He didn’t know what to say—it was so frustrating not having a clue. Should he run out and find Tavvy who was taking care of the yet unnamed pup while they were working out and thrust him into Ty’s arms? All his thoughts of help seemed so incredibly inconsequential and useless.

“You knew about the curse,” Ty said unexpectedly.

Kit gave him a level look even though Ty wouldn’t catch his eye. “Julian gave me the heads up, and I just found out. He was worried about you.”

“They are always worried about me.”

“And now you’re worried about him,” Kit said.

Ty shrugged. It wasn’t the normal type of shrug people gave, but like he was trying to upend Atlas’s globe off his shoulders, and a lot like Julian—his need to try to fix things for his impossible family.

“Your hands, I think I can draw an iratze. Will you let me—I’ve never drawn a rune on someone before. I need the practice.” Kit lifted Ty’s swollen and bleeding hands as if to examine them. Was Ty as hypersensitive to pain as other stimuli like sounds? Kit winced in empathy at the torn up fingers. He hoped they weren’t broken. Did they need Silent Brothers to set breaks before their bones healed? Were they the equivalent of orthopedic surgeons, or did the rune just magically fix it? Was he even confident enough that he could draw an iratze, and get it right?

Ty nodded and Kit’s hand shook as he moved a stele on the inside of Ty’s wrist. His skin was so pale, the veins beneath were like blue rivers running beneath porcelain. Kit smelled the dampness of sweat, was overly aware of how Ty’s thick black hair was a matted straight edged against the sharpness of his cheekbones. It was strange how he didn’t have curls like the rest of his siblings.

“Where’s your Herondale ring?” Ty asked.

Rune finished, it seemed to be working. Ty laid flat on his back on the mats. He was still breathing hard, his hand over his eyes, as the rune continued to heal him.

Kit sat next to him, his ribs and stomach smarting. Getting beat up was a bitch. “I gave it back to Jace,” he said.

Kit thought back on how unpleasant _that_ conversation had been.

His timing could have been better: he’d found Jace after what looked like an intense conversation with Alec. Kit had been giving a lot of thought as to the unending chaos of his life. There were a lot of things he wasn’t sure about, didn’t understand, but the only thing he knew with any certainty was that he wanted to stay with the Blackthorns.

“I’m giving this back to you,” he’d said to Jace, handing him back the Herondale ring. It had only been a couple weeks that he’d had it, but it had been a lifetime. Livvy’s lifetime.

“Why?” Jace asked confused. “You’re a Herondale, it rightfully belongs to you.”

“The Blackthorns are breaking from the Clave. I’m going with them,” he said bluntly.

Jace gave him a hard look. “I know you don’t like the Clave, that you and your father had reasons to be distrustful of them—“

“I talked to Arthur Blackthorn,” Kit said interrupting him. “He asked me what kind of Herondale I would be—a coward like Tobias, or a traitor like Stephen. He was your father, wasn’t he—part of Valentine’s Circle?”

Jace frowned and looked uncomfortable. “I never knew him,” he finally said.

“I think the Cohort and their hate is one of the reasons Livvy is dead. And if being a Shadowhunter means signing up for their hatred, you can count me out. I didn’t know what Julian was planning, but if he didn’t do this, I think I would have left anyway. They made me understand why my dad spent his entire life in hiding—and never wanted me to be like them.”

“All Shadowhunters aren’t like that, Kit. It’s just the voices of the few have grown so loud that they shout down everyone else,” Jace said.

“That’s bullshit,” he challenged right back. “One voice is just as loud as any other—if there aren’t enough people speaking up it’s because they either agree, or they’re cowards.”

“I understand you’ve grown close with the Blackthorns—“

“The Centurions—when they came, they said that I had to either go live with you, or to the Academy,” Kit said interrupting Jace again. “That I didn’t get a say, or a choice in my own future. That my life would be decided by the Clave. That’s bullshit too. So, what type of Herondale will I be? I’ll be the one who makes my own decisions, right or wrong.”

Jace’s eyebrows were frowning, his face grim. “The Blackthorns—they don’t even have a guardian themselves, and they’re dealing with a lot right now.”

“You seriously don’t think Julian and Emma are old enough to take care of us?” Unbelievable.

“Taking care of kids, training—it’s a lot of responsibility.”

“Julian’s already been doing that all for a long time. Besides, Diana is the one that will officially be taking care of us, training us and all that. If she was Julian’s tutor, and trained Emma, then she has to be good.”

Jace nodded as if he understood far more of the world than Kit did. “Alec said that you were close to the twins. I haven’t had a chance to say I’m sorry about what happened with Livvy.”

Kit looked away. “Ty needs me right now.”

“I imagine he does. Are you and Ty considering being _parabatai_?” he asked.

A frustrated laugh bubbled up. “See, this is the reason I shouldn’t live with you. You know nothing about me, and don’t understand anything.” He sounded petulant even to himself, regressing to an angst ridden teenager. People didn’t listen when they thought that was all there was to you. He started again. “No, I don’t think we’re like that.”

And felt immensely grateful that Julian saw enough to understand what was potentially happening, because Kit still didn’t get it.

Maybe it was the endorphins from the fight, or maybe Julian was more right than Kit wanted to admit, but he had to readjust himself a little too much. He breathed deep and tried to think of rotting sea demons, but all he could smell was Ty’s sweat and that was too much of an aphrodisiac. No, maybe being _parabatai_ had been a bad idea. Fuck, what had it been like for Julian to have to train everyday like that with Emma? And could he ask the question, dude, how the hell did you hide your boner, for like years?

Things were just hard right now, confusing with their lives spiraling so out control. The one thing Kit knew was that he didn’t want to ruin his friendship with Ty. Besides Ty had never given any indication if he even swung that way—swung any way for that matter. Although with Mark and Helen being in the family he had to know he wouldn’t be judged one way or another. That was more than most kids got.

Kit didn’t want to talk anymore about Jace. “Are you worried about Julian and the others, because it’s just supposed to be a reconnaissance mission. They went with the entire Justice League of Downworlders.”

Ty’s answering silence irked him.

“We can call them, if it’ll make you feel better. Just touch base,” Kit said.              

“We can’t interrupt them. A distraction could cost them their lives,” Ty explained.

Kit translated that to mean: _They are already worried enough about me, having me call to check on them will out me to how out of control I feel._

“You can’t lose Julian, too. Any more of your family, is that what you mean?”

“I say what I mean.”

Kit nodded. “You do, but you don’t say very much. A word here or there is hard to decipher. I’m making my own translations as to what’s going on in your head.”

Again, there was that silence, the kind where Kit wasn’t sure Ty had even heard what he said.

“It’s my fault that Livvy’s dead,” Ty said unexpectedly.

_Whoa!_ Where did that come from? How the hell was _that_ going on in his head?

“Why do you say that?” Kit asked carefully.         

“When we went to Cornwall, I left that letter for Annabel. I told her to come—that she could trust us. If I hadn’t sent that letter, she wouldn’t have come. She wouldn’t have killed Livvy.” Ty’s hand rubbed his chest where Livvy’s wound had been. It was becoming a repetitive gesture. Kit wondered if Ty still felt the pain there, if he could because they were twins and connected in some way. How he would always carry a hellacious scar there, even if it was unseen.

Kit had to be very careful on how to respond to this. It wasn’t true, but Ty believed it to be, and sometimes letting go of those truths were the hardest.

“Well, the way I remember it, the Riders were about to murder us all, and it was Annabel who bought us a stay of execution.”

Ty was shaking his head, no. “We could have figured a way out. Magnus? Or Emma with Cortana?”

“Look, I think Annabel is a batshit crazy bitch. She may have good reasons for turning out that way, and I don’t forgive her for what she did to Livvy. But I saw every one of you at the Rider’s mercy, as they were ready to kill you. A sword to Julian’s throat, Mark on his back, Cristina on her knees, you and Livvy backed against a wall. We _all_ would have been killed that night. There were too many for Emma, and Magnus was too sick. It’s the truth Ty.”

“And you have no idea how much I hate to say it, but she saved our lives. And _that_ was because of you.” Kit let that sink in. “Julian thinks it’s his fault for taking Annabel to the Clave to testify. He blames himself too.”

“It’s not Julian’s fault. He didn’t know that Magnus wouldn’t be there. He didn’t know just how bad the Clave would be,” Ty said, rubbing his chest almost violently.

“You should tell him that,” Kit said with a seriousness to his voice. “Maybe if it comes from you, he’ll believe it. I think Emma also blames herself for not being fast enough. Mark does too, because Livvy got through the guards to reach the dais, and he didn’t. He thinks if he had, things might have ended differently. It’s Malcolm’s fault for raising Annabel from the grave in the first place. The Clave 200 years ago for making her mad. And it’s Annabel’s fault for doing it. I wish I hadn’t been stuck in that back room with Magnus, that if I’d been there—“ Kit took a deep breath, trying to calm his own emotions. “Listen Ty, I know this game. I’ve played some variation of it since my dad died. Everybody can think of a thousand what ifs about how things could have gone differently. It was shitty circumstances, sometimes that’s all there is to it.”

“A confluence of events,” Tiberius murmured. It was strange that he most often thought of him as Ty, but when he got into this scholarly intellectual mode, he shape-changed into Tiberius.

“Probably.” Tiberius was a thinker and Kit didn’t know what else was behind that statement.

“I know you’re worried about Julian. And it hasn’t gone unnoticed you haven’t said anything about the curse. You know you can talk to me, right?”

Ty looked confused. “I just did.”

“Well, keep doing it, then,” Kit said. “Now, tell me, is there any good reason for us to call them?”

~~~       

Alec knelt on the ground cradling Magnus’ body. It didn’t look like he’d survived the journey through the portal, but Emma couldn’t imagine how that could be. Alec looked shattered. The first heavy drops of rain, fat tears from the sky, started to fall. The heavy drops burst on the ground to steam up from the frozen ground.

_No._ Her mind screamed in disbelief. _Not Magnus too._

Cristina was there, thank god. “Is he alive?” Emma came careening to a halt.

Cristina gave her a sad look of compassion and a quick hug. “Yes, but perhaps for not long,” she said quietly. Everyone was circled around Alec—Jace, Clary, Maia—even Lily. The stood in silent vigil, and Emma felt like a voyeur watching their pain.

“What happened?” Emma whispered.

“I tried to portal us too close to the blighted circle. It cast us out,” Clary said, tears and guilt streaking her face. Magnus looked impossibly small and withered cradled in Alec’s arms. He’d insisted on coming, even though he’d still been sick when they left. He’d seemed somewhat recovered to Emma, like the healing peace of the Praetor House had restored him, but all remnants of that hard won health was leached away. His head was sunken, skeletal with deep bruises under his eyes. His hair was almost completely gray. He looked old, like Methuselah. It must be the magic of this place that was affecting him, she thought dazed.

The earth was so cold though, and she remembered Kieran’s question of what it felt like to kill a Rider, something as old as the earth itself. This is what it felt like. _Deathly pain_ he called it, but the description was so terribly inaccurate. Was this place enough to kill a warlock?

“I don’t remember it feeling this bad when we were in Faerie,” Christina said.

“Fae and Earth magic aren’t the same,” Julian replied. The wheels in his mind were working. That was good, Emma thought. If anyone could come up with something it is was him.”

“When did you go to Faerie?” Diego asked Cristina with a look of betrayal on his face. Hah! Emma thought unremorsefully. Now you know how it feels. It was a very uncharitable thought, especially given Magnus’ current state.

Jace joined Clary. “Can you portal him out?” he asked. “Maybe get him to the Spiral Labyrinth?”

“I can’t!” Clary said devastated. “This place has messed with my abilities, too. Nothing is working.”

Emma heard Jace mumble to her, “Do you feel weak, really weak?” he asked, his normal confidence slipping. Come to think of it, Jace didn’t look too good either.

“It’s our angel blood, I think,” she answered. “This is worse than when we were in Edom.” Emma shared a look with Clary, and Emma was terrified for her, knowing Clary’s dreams.

“He’s going to die if we don’t do something,” Julian stated. Jace looked like he wanted to punch Julian. “I have an idea, but I don’t know if it will work. Would you be willing to let me and Emma try?”

Emma was startled. What did he think they could do? But Jace nodded. “We’ll try anything at this point. The alternative—“

Julian motioned Emma, but before she pulled away to march over to Helen and Aline. “Clary’s really weak right now, and Simon’s not here. Promise me you’ll stay with her, guard her.” Helen looked confused, but agreed, and Jace looked at her with a little too much suspicion. Why couldn’t the Herondales be a little less smart? Only then did she kneel next to Julian, so together they hovered over Magnus.

“What are you thinking?” Emma asked him. Julian was her _parabatai_. She shouldn’t need to ask this question, and the fact that she needed to unnerved her. Why was it she didn’t know what he was thinking? She hadn’t known about his ideas to break from the Clave, to create a new kind of Downworlder Alliance—It was like one minute their souls were whispering along their bond together, and the next she was completely blocked as to what his thoughts were. It was confusing and unpredictable and threw her off balance.

“In Faerie when you fought the Unseelie Champion, your runes didn’t work.”

“Yep.” Stating the obvious.

“I felt our _parabatai_ rune. It flared when the Champion injured you,” Julian said.

“ _What_?” Why was he only telling her this now? And what did it mean?

“And what you did with Cameron?” he prompted.

She understood what he was getting at—the implications. “You think one of our mega-runes will somehow work here?”

“The fire one worked at the church in Cornwall,” he said, rubbing his thumb against his stubbly chin in thought.

“But that wasn’t like this place. Not even close,” she said still skeptical. She didn’t want to ever use one of those runes again. She wanted to keep the curse as far away as she could. To do another rune felt like moving one step closer to inviting complete catastrophe.

“It’s a chance—that’s all we can give him,” Julian said. “And it may not work.”

“He’s a warlock, he can’t take an iratze,” she argued.

“True. But he can take the Alliance rune. It was something Kit said to me—we can give him our strength, at least until we’re out of here, out of the danger,” he looked at her, guileless eyes challenging her. “I know you don’t want to use them, that you think when you do, it’s only hurrying things along, but if we can make a difference here, the way we couldn’t—“

“With Livvy,” she finished for him. “Julian, we couldn’t have done anything for her, she was already gone.”

“I know that,” he said. “Magnus isn’t.”

Alec had been listening to their conversation. “I don’t know all that you’re talking about, but if there is some way for you to help him—please, I’m begging you.”

Emma passed her stele to Julian. “Try. We’ll do our best, Alec, but we don’t know what we’re doing, or the full consequences.”

He nodded, rocking Magnus in his arms.

Emma wrapped her arms around Julian, wiggled her fingers under his gear so they would skin to skin be touching. She didn’t know if she needed the physical touch of him, but she was selfish enough to grab any chance she could. Her whole body eased, feeling like a cat curled up in the brightest of sunshine. She stroked his abdominal muscles, felt the ratcheting tension and lust punch through him. She shouldn’t want this, and definitely not here—it was probably a distraction and she tried to pull away.

He gripped her hand, staying it. “No, don’t. It’s better—easier when it’s like this.” It was like Julian was some sort of drug, and touching him the only time she could find peace. The toxic and noxious air around them no longer mattered, nor her earlier panic attack. And like a drug, the feeling was as addictive as it was destructive. She felt every knot of self-doubt and fear, despair and grief melt away when they were together like this. She allowed herself give everything that she was over to him, trusting him to draw his heart out. And he did. She felt his intent, his resolve, as he focused the power behind the meaning and intent of the rune.

Normal runes burned like a charring black tattoo onto the skin—this was a laser of white light and gold, something pure in this atmosphere of dead and dying earth. She felt Magnus’ faltering heartbeat like a small caged bird desperate to be free. It echoed along their bond. It wasn’t just Julian that he was binding Magnus to, but to them together, as _parabatai_.

The rune hovered over Magnus’ forearm as if deciding whether or not to settle into his skin. It was agonizing, those few seconds before it finally clung to him. The white light pulsed with Magnus’ heartbeat and Emma felt the answering pull as energy drained from her, making her dizzy. She held on tighter to Julian and closed her eyes against the light-headedness. She could feel Julian wilt beneath her arms and she stroked his curls as they breathed through the power and energy together.

She didn’t know how long they were like that together, before reality reorganized itself around them. They’d helped Magnus—she could feel a bit of wild dark warlock magic in the marrow of her bones. Magnus eased up gently, testing this strange new energy, and reclined against Alex, his cat eyes golden green and blazing fire at them. He was staring back and forth between the rune etched on his skin and the two of them. “What the bloody hell did you do?” he asked in equal parts astonishment and horror—she wasn’t sure.

“We didn’t know how to add glitter,” Emma giggled. “You’ll have to do that yourself.”

“You look better,” Julian added. “That corpse look you had going wouldn’t have matched your wardrobe.”

Magnus might have said more, but Alec swooped in for a full on kiss.

It felt really good, what they’d just done. That was until the screeching came.


	16. Smoldering Bones

They came at the same time rain began to fall in earnest. Lightning marked their way as flying sails of a razor winged demon spiraled down into their group. Emma had barely enough warning to tackle Clary to the ground. A claw gouged the jacket of her gear shredding it, as the beast landed on top them.

She grunted in pain as she was slammed into the ground. Thankfully, the gear did its job and the talon didn’t break through to skin. The air knocked out of her, she gasped trying to regain her breath. Her whole body shuddered in one big bruise. The bat like wings whooped in the silence, blasts of air stirring up a horrendous haze of dust and ash. She twisted around to see a bolt rent through the monster’s eye. Julian.

It shrieked a deafening cry, pitched high enough that her eardrums almost burst. It made her teeth hurt—the pain and the threat, feeding into her rage. It was raining hard now, the ground growing slick with slimy ash. She’d almost been too late to save Clary. Even now Clary squirmed beneath her—alive.

Emma had just enough room below the creature to maneuver Cortana into slicing its belly open. Hardened scales were no match for Cortana. Emma grabbed Clary’s arm and pulled her out of the way a moment before the creature collapsed on top of them.

Julian was there. So were Helen and Aline.

“We got her,” Aline promised. Clary, although scared and weakened defiantly unsheathed Heosphoros. She was going to fight and Emma was glad for that. Emma did a quick survey. Clicking sounds echoed throughout the woods as shadows coalesced into wicked shapes. Emma hoped it was trick of sound, to make their numbers appear larger, or they were in serious trouble.

They’d broken off into smaller groups. Alec and Jace were flanking another winged demon. From the corner of her eye she saw a sparking blue light as Magnus blasted a bolt of fiery magic into one of the creatures. It knocked the creature onto its back, hairy spidery legs catching fire and burning the carcass from the inside out. Had they managed to jump start Magnus’ magic?

She spied Mark’s white blond hair in the distance with Cristina and Mark—they were holding their own, but Julian’s concentration was wholly focused on something else.

It was a wave of shadow, incorporeal. Shadow became clay as it took physical shape, a mountainous cockroach demon. That’s what the clicking was from—it’s mandibles, and it sounded almost like a language. It was rallying a slew of lessor demons, a call to battle. Julian gritted his teeth and knocked several arrows.

Just as they reached the target, the creature shifted into amorphous state, the arrows sailing through. She heard him curse. Emma charged. Cortana blazed golden in the dark night as she swung and sliced. She was making contact but whatever this beast was, it was part amorphous shadow. While Cortana could cut through anything, it needed a hard surface to slice through. Instead the demon merely separated only to reform.

Rain was falling hard now, making the ashy ground muddy and slick. Emma struggled to keep her balance as her sure-foot rune was of no help. Diego was laid on the ground, prone and she hoped not dead. Cristina moved in his direction with Mark and Kieran going to cover her. She pulled out stele, but either it didn’t work, or Diego was dead.

And the shadow, a cloud of inky blackness fractured and regenerated into dozens of unnatural and evil shapes—a bulbous tentacle thrashed out, grabbing Kieran’s ankle, yanking him down to the ground in a sickening crack. Mark tried to sever the shadow, but it only separated and reformed this time to strangle him around the neck.

The pieces Emma hacked at were now dozens of smaller things, a sucking blindfold covering Magnus’ eyes—and then she saw Clary fall and drop. She didn’t get back up again. Jace and Alec surrounded her keeping the clicking mandibles of a dozen encroaching mid-sized demons at bay.

Where had all these creatures come from?

Shards of lightening dropped from the sky. One struck a pine tree nearby and an explosion of fire blasted around them, lighting the canopy overhead into an inferno. Smoke now mixed with the ash, embers falling on them to mix with the rain. She felt the burn as one landed on her hand, smelled her hair burn as another landed on her head. She shook the cinders off, and coughed—the air growing more toxic and fetid.

She felt Julian apply more runes—to breathe, fireproof, energy. She felt them in her skin as he applied them to his, but she also felt them melt away. She didn’t understand why sometimes it worked, and sometimes it didn’t—their runes.

The shadow did not like the fire any more than they did. Was it the heat or the light that it cringed from? Another screech rent the air. A quick scan and Emma was proud to see they were still fighting, carcasses of the lessor demons scattered and burning. Rain spilled from the sky, sheets of it dousing the flames under its torrent. 

Emma slipped as the ground beneath her became quicksand, gripping her feet and ankles. She rebalanced herself, but couldn’t free herself from sinking deeper into the sludge. _Stay still_ , Julian hissed in her mind. He was trying to lure the creature away. He lit the tip of an arrow with fire and tried again. It sailed through the creature, landing close to Emma.

The shadow had surrounded Emma though, cornered its prey and she didn’t know what would happen if the shadow enveloped her—would it eat her?

_Ideas?_ Emma’s mind searched for Julian’s. There was a flicker of something at the edge of her consciousness, but she couldn’t catch it.

_Julian!_ She reached out, trying to keep the panic at bay.

Julian looked to the sky—the winged demons were held at bay from the fires, but the sky was blotted out. She felt him searching for the dawn. It was close—so close.

They weren’t supposed to be here long, certainly not for a full battle—just a short reconnaissance for the Downworlders to see the destruction first hand. Lily was supposed to be back by dawn and he searched her out. She was ferocious in glory, pulling a demon’s appendages off with her bare hands. While everyone else was weakened, she seemed strong. They didn’t have time to wait for dawn.

Julian was running full speed jumped over her and she knew he wanted her to reach for him and she did, her hand meeting his in a physical touch that rocked her. Power and energy surged in her, fire in her veins as the earth released her in a sucking gasp. He landed in a lower branch of a tree. She pulled herself up behind him. _Don’t let go._

He punched his hand into the shadow itself, the bitter cold so numbing he had to concentrate hard not to drop the stele. The shadow had surrounded them both, kissing their skin. Burning ice crackled, she hissed at the feel of that deathly pain—only now the source was from her ebbing life force. From Julian’s.

_No!_ Rage surged through her, and she yanked on the tenterhooks of the bond that linked them and shredded them while apart—she gave herself over to the pain, and put every bit of faith she had into Julian.

He created a fire rune. He traced it deep within the shadow.       

The shadow expanded in upheaval. A rash of white gold light cracked along fissures, fracturing the black ghost in a whirlwind of lightning. Wisps of brightness blinded the forest as it spread through a tangled rivulet of tentacles. The charring choked the life from the monstrosity.

It blinded everything in the forest as whips of bright light, unseen tentacles and roots, spreading out as far as the eye could see. Whatever the shadow was, it had been vine-like in its invasion. Veins pulsed phosphoresce whistling through a hardening shell of roots, tearing open trees. The earth below glowed almost like a witchlight.  There was a final blood curdling screams of agony as the last of the lessor demons fell dying in heaps everywhere. In the distance, Emma heard random thunks of large things falling from trees. 

Julian’s skin was icy and she felt him convulse, and collapse to the ground. She twisted her body helping him to roll his weight and break the fall. For a moment, his weight pinned her to the ground as his body lay stunned on top of hers.

This place was a piece of hell, with blood and death and terror of friends fighting all around them, but she closed her eyes and relished this split second of feeling him on top of her.

Someone was standing behind Julian. Her vision blurred and she wasn’t sure if it were Mark or Jace, both had light hair, but Julian was lifted to his feet.

It was Jace. An inscrutable frown marred his brow.

“Clary?” Emma shouted in panic.

“She’s okay, just scratched up some.” His gaze was probing filled with unasked questions. Emma could tell he was biding his time. He grimaced, lips pressed thin as he jerked his seraph blade in agitation. He ran through a list of angels trying to light it, looking as if he believed he’d managed to offend some of them, but still holding out hope there was at least one out there that would be game to help him.

Julian scanned the carnage. Like a good general, he made sure everyone was accounted for. He reached his hand out to Emma. She avoided it, rolling away and rising on her own. Now that the crisis had passed she was afraid to touch him again.

As a group, they were pretty banged up. Maia and Bat had been unable to turn into wolf form (an unexpected consequence of the blight) and needed the protection of the others. Diego was badly wounded teeth marks gnawed through his gear, along his shoulder and chest. His breathing was bad, maybe some cracked ribs or a punctured lung? They needed to get him in range of where a regular iratze could heal him. Mark had an angry welt on his neck from his near strangulation, and Helen was leaning on Aline, blood dripping down her arm.

Kieran paced protectively around Mark and Cristina, his eyes roving through trees anticipating whatever new threats might come their way. And Lily seemed juiced on an extra shot of an energy drink, but everyone else was battered and exhausted.

“We need to get to the outside edge of the circle where our angelic powers will work again,” Julian determined.

“Don’t you just want to use one of those fancy runes to build a portal out?” Jace’s normal tone was sarcastic, but Emma sensed he was in an ornery mood—That he didn’t like that they’d been the ones to save Magnus or to kill the head demon.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Emma stood up to challenge him.

Clary stepped between them, “Jace, I’ll explain later,” she said. It looked like he wanted to argue, but when Clary shook her head in warning.

Emma turned to look at the carnage and realized something. “The demons—they’re dead, but they’re not returning to their home dimension. They are dead, right?” she asked, twirling Cortana in her hand with the familiarity of limbering up expecting another onslaught. “Cause you know I killed Malcolm, and he didn’t stay dead.”

That rune they’d made. It had to have killed that Shadow demon.

Magnus came stumbling up, leaning on Alec for support. It looked like he was mildly injured: their alliance rune was still there, helping him stay young and healthy. “They are well toasted,” Magnus affirmed. “And they are dead,” he agreed.

“Then why aren’t they disappearing?” Emma asked.

“They can’t,” he said with a terrible certainty. “I believe they were born to this world.”   

An annoying sound of a cell phone interrupted their moment of, Oh Shit!, silence.

“Emma, are you buzzing?” Julian asked in disbelief.

She fumbled under her jacked and pulled out the still intact phone. Julian’s eyebrows rose, concern in his eyes. ‘Kit’, she mouthed.

“Yes, young Herondale?” Emma said.

“Ty wanted me to call. Is everything okay,” he staged whispered.

“Yep, we’re all good,” she said looking over all the pandemonium of steaming demon corpses, half dead forests and charred landscapes just to double check on everyone. Diego didn’t look so hot, half dead in fact, but he didn’t count. “I wouldn’t think we’re close enough to a cell tower— “

“Well you are,” he said. “According to Ty, 98% of the states has coverage by at least one provider. Although I’d hate to see the bill with roaming charges.”

“I thought we were in Canada.”

“Snarky, I like that. Ty pulled SAT coverage over your area. You can see the blight.”

“Oh, man, that’s _not_ good,” she said. She should have tempered her words because Julian stopped pacing and charged over to her. She shook her head and ducked behind Helen for protection. She hadn’t done that in years.

“He wants you to get samples if you can,” there were whispered words of a mumbled argument in the background. “Document with pictures from your phone, earth and specimen samples—whatever you can bring back.”

“Let me talk to him,” she said.

“He doesn’t want to talk on the phone.”

She sighed. “He never does.” He hated the phone. He texted, but never talked unless it was to Helen and then only briefly—More for an acknowledgement that she was still alive. “Tell him he has to talk to me or I won’t get him pictures.

There was more mumbling in the background.

“Emma.” It was Ty. She closed her eyes so glad to have him on the other line. She hadn’t had a chance to see him before this trip.

“Everyone is fine Ty. Julian is right here—Helen, Mark, we’re all okay.”

“Ok,” he said and hung up.

She sighed and looked up. Everyone was staring.

“That was Kit and Ty,” she said unnecessarily. “Mundane tech works here, obviously, and they can see this place from the satellites. Glamours aren’t going to cover this up from the mundanes.”

She went over and took a wide smiled selfie with the barbequed demon.

“Are you taking a selfie?” Jace asked aghast.

“He wants documentation.” She sent off the picture with the text: _Love with hugs and kisses_ XOXO, just before Julian pulled the phone from her hand.

“He’ll be upset your head was in the way,” Julian said. She stuck her tongue out at him. His shook his head, with an amused, _what am I going to do with you_ , look. He went off to do take more legitimate, but less fun pics.

“He wants samples too.” She looked at the charred demon in disgust.

~~~

“How far to the border do you think before our seraph blades will start lighting again?” Julian asked. They’d rooted out the evil, but everything was still dead. “We need to tell the Clave about this. The voting should have finished by now.”

Julian grabbed an appendage—that was definitely not an arm and she didn’t think it was a leg either on the contorted body of something. Identifying species of demons was only important to her in a way that it helped her to understand how to kill it, but she _knew_ this was something they hadn’t seen before. It was too bad Ty wasn’t here, he’d want to take this entire place under a CSI scientific inspection.

“We still haven’t made our decision about the Alliance,” Jace groused.

“That’s fine,” Julian lied. “Like I said, I have contingency plans. You want the Cohort to manage _this_ ,” he said, indicating everything from the black slime coating his gear to the wasteland surrounding them, “all the while helping them round up Downworlders to blame. Feel free. Tell me, are you planning on handing over Max, because that sounds like something Stephen Herondale would do— “

Julian was knocked on his ass as Jace tackled him. Emma in turn tackled Jace off Julian and they all became a knotted mess of arms and legs. Alec and Clary and Mark and Helen waded in trying to separate the two.

“Sorry,” Julian mumbled. It was the kind of apology you gave because you were supposed to give it, and not because you meant it. Emma squinted an evil eye at him.

“Stop antagonizing him, Julian,” she whispered.

“Have you thought of what this means, all the way through?” Jace shouted. “It means we’re giving up on the Clave and all the other Shadowhunters. The Unseelie King can ride into Idris and if it’s anything like this place, the Nephilim will be wiped out. Not every Shadowhunter is the Cohort.”

“You think the Cohort is only a minority with loud voices, then where the hell was your voice?”

“What are you talking about?” Jace looked confused.

“After the Dark War. You saw Mark in Faerie, you knew what they’d done to him, made him become. That day they sent my sister into exile, you didn’t even bother to show up—to tell the Clave the truth. That Mark had been the one to send the warning, that he was a loyal Shadowhunter—that he was a hero that saved more lives than anyone else when Alicante was attacked—it was because of him we had any fortification against the Fae!”

Deep anger and resentment unfurled, and relief that he could finally say what he was thinking. “They would have listened to you, the great hero. So, tell me, Jace Herondale, the supposed greatest Shadowhunter—explain to my why Robert Lightwood got to do evil with the Circle, then get a promotion to run an Institute? How many Shadowhunters _died_ because of him! So, he never got to go back to Idris, but he got to keep his family!” Julian’s voice rose to an angry shout.

He took a breath, trying to calm himself, but was unable to temper his disgust. “Why did he get to keep his family, when Helen who fought side by side with you at the Burren, who fought next to Jia Penhallow in the Dark War was punished for crimes she never even committed?” He looked bitterly disappointed at the man standing before him. “Maybe a hero isn’t just someone who is the best at killing demons—maybe it is someone willing to stand up for what is right. Maybe you and I just have different definitions of what a hero is.”

Jace looked like he’d taken a fatal blow. Julian didn’t care.

He anchored the charred demon corpse over his shoulder and walked away.

~~~

“Maybe we should talk about happier things,” Emma said cheerfully. She’d stand by Julian always, but even she was a little thrown by his plan. She’d only just found out about it before they left to come here and felt a bit left out of the loop. But anything she had to say to Julian she’d do it privately. She was also sort of upset that he hadn’t talked to her about any of this stuff before. “How could those demons be born here, Magnus?”

She’d always thought Julian didn’t like Jace because of the crush she’d had on him when she was younger. She winced in recollection of how many times she bestowed all his great virtues, all the while not knowing how angry he was. Could Jace really have made a difference? Maybe, maybe not—but she did take the point that he hadn’t tried.

“I do not know,” Magnus said.

“The Codex,” Julian said. “It says:  _Like a ghost, a fledging rising from his grave draws energy and strength from the living things nearby, drawing their heat and producing a distinctive cold spot around his grave_ —The cold of the grave, the cold of the circle.”

“They’re talking about vampires, though,” Alec said.

“Is it so different? Necromancy was worked here, and the stealing of life is the energy fueling the resurrection of something—these demons? It’s allowing something to be born into existence into our world that should never be here. They are the vanguards. So long as this cancer continues to spread more will be born.”

Magnus gave Alec a long look—the kind married couples could give each other (or _parabatai_ ). “Julian is right. The sooner the Clave understands this, and our position, the sooner we can put our energies into fixing this.”

“Helen, you said that one of these circles was in Idris. Near the Herondale manor? How long do you think they have before something like this happens there?” Jace asked.

“I’m not sure,” she said. “This is the oldest circle in the North America region at about four months. There’s another in southern Russia which was the first we identified—I hate to think what that one’s like. We couldn’t reach the center when we portaled in, and we’ve already walked, what? Two miles?”

“Does it grow exponentially?” Jace asked.

No one answered.

“We’d need to come back here and figure out the circumference. It’s best if we do that at each circle—Ty could make a computer model. He might even be able to make projections. But, if the one in Idris expands at the rate of this one, it will hit Alicante within a few months,” Helen theorized.

“There was nothing like this in Faerie. No demons,” Mark said.

Cristina came up beside him. “We don’t know if that true or not. Demon’s hunt—they like to feed off living things. It’s possible they either killed everybody, or the chased after the fae that fled—searching out new hunting ground. Your bone sword worked, Kier,” she observed. “Maybe that is because it is carved from the dead. They can be harmed by a piece of death, because that is part of the natures—if what Magnus says is true, and they were in fact born here.”

Kieran’s bone sword was slick with oily green rust. It had almost the effect of a seraph blade, and so he could help give better protection to Mark and Cristina. Mark used a sword folded a thousand times with the best Damascus steel and Cristina had an iron tipped spear head she’d brought with her. Neither of their weapons had done any severe damage, mostly just kept the demons at bay long enough for Kieran to slice his way through.

She was so very glad they were still safe. It felt like after all the death, maybe they had a guardian angel looking out for them.

They were a bedraggled group limping along. Cristina led the way, a witchlight in her hand, a seraph blade in the other to give them a firm demarcation line of when their magic began working again. Diego was being dragged along half unconscious by Mark and Kieran—not only did he have a bite mark on his chest, but his head was bleeding like a stuck pig. They’d done the best to bandage it, but he needed runes soon. Emma wondered what they were teaching at the Scholomance because these Centurions weren’t really all that impressive.

“Your brother defends you,” she heard Kieran mutter. “You are blessed to have a family who loves you this much. I admire his ruthlessness when he uses it to your defense.”

“I am honored that you are united in your love of me,” Mark beamed. Kieran merely grunted his agreement.       

It was still raining heavily and Emma was glad that would allow them a few more minutes before dawn to do their business with the Clave. Lily was looking a little nervous—dawn _was_ coming fast. They needed to be far enough away from the epicenter that Clary or Magnus could make a portal and get her to shelter. She supposed she and Julian could try to make the portal, she’d watched Clary carefully and knew how to draw the rune, but she didn’t want to use any more power than she had to. Every time she did it felt like she was inviting the curse one step closer.

She still didn’t understand what the rune was Clary had shown her earlier. Something nagged at her mind to use it, but she didn’t know what for, or how.

“It’s glowing,” Cristina announced, a triumphant smile flashing over her face. In her other hand, she was rubbing her medallion again and Emma wondered what happened when you prayed in a dead circle like this—and your messages didn’t get out, like an undeliverable message on a text. What happened to all those unheard wishes, hopes and dreams?

“Maia?” Julian called. They’d arranged a speaking order ahead of time, and they gathered in a loose circle to take up their positions. The smoking carcass was the backdrop and Diego was runed and cleaned up well enough to give a first-hand Centurion account. This needed this to be done fast, with no time to answer questions.

Maia handed Julian the charm and he called the Council meeting before him.

~~~       

Kerfuffle. She’d heard a waitress in Cornwall use that word, and it was how she envisioned the word meaning with the instant chaos of an unprepared Clave, suddenly looking upon their little ravaged assembly. She suspected she looked no better than a drowned rat and that was on par with everyone else.

Lazlo Balogh flushed deeply in anger, and stepped out of the way realizing he was sharing space with them. “What is the meaning of this?” he shouted.

“Hear me,” Julian bellowed in the deeper octave of a man’s voice that no one believed came from a seventeen-year-old boy. This was the presence he used in defying the Unseelie King and she could feel the humming thrill through him at being able to finally have his say among the Clave.

“Behind me are the scars of dark magic, the relics of the spells used by Malcolm Fade. He damaged the world more than we can understand.” He stepped out of the way to show the demon burning.

“This demon was born here, in this blighted circle. Our Nephilim magic does not work here. For those that don’t believe, there in another of these circles, of death and ash—a magically dead space that is spreading like a cancer located in Idris. Nephilim power will not work there, runes fail and seraph blades will not light.”

He motioned for Cristina who walked back into the circle and the seraph blade she held in one hand, and the witchlight in the other flickered out. “It is a half mile west of the Herondale Estate. I challenge each of you to see it for yourselves. Shadowhunters cannot fight this alone, we need every faction of the Downworlders to unite with us, if we hope to have the Black Volume returned to us, and a cure found.”

Diego stepped forward. “I am Diego Roccio Rosales, a Centurion. I fought in this battle and saw with my own eyes the truth as to what they say occurred here.”

Julian called, “Magnus.”

“I have had the privilege of working with some of the finest Nephilim.” He stood tall and stately—High Warlock in his prime. His presence demanded respect. And one who had lived several lifetimes longer than the oldest of the Shadowhunters. “I have been blessed to love them, too. Yet, I remember the time of the Hunts and the Schism.”

“That was an awful enough time in Nephilim history where the Clave almost admitted that it went too far,” Magnus explained giving a history refresher. “It was the time when any werewolf pack who chose to live in the wilderness and adhere to their own culture were hunted down and murdered by the thousands. Tens of thousands. It was genocide.”

Sometimes it was easy to forget just how long Magnus had lived, that he knew this not just by the history books.

“And along with the hunts, was the schism. Warlocks, like me, were hunted and slaughtered for the old glory of the Clave, and to line their coffers with spoils. I have spoken to the other warlocks. We will not be complicit in endorsing or helping a regime that is no better than Valentine. As such, any warlock who now aids the Clave will be shunned from the aid of other warlocks. We will no longer offer our services for spells—for portals. The Spiral Labyrinth is now closed to you as well. The warlocks formally withdraw from the Accords.”

Emma felt Julian jolt in shock. For all his planning, he didn’t really believe they would do it—break from the Accords. She desperately wanted to see Jace’s reaction. Did this mean Alec was going to leave too?

There was a hubbub of chatter and more than one Shadowhunter shouted to be heard, but the advantage of a projection was they weren’t bound by interruptions of shouting or throwing of things. The Clave’s anger could literally not touch them, so they continued.

Maia moved forward. “The Werewolves will not be hunted, nor contained in camps, nor have any of our people lose their freedoms to your edicts. We join with the warlocks and formally withdraw from the Accords.”

Lily was next to Maia, and Maia gave her a nudge. “Vampires were only here because of the warlocks and the werewolves. We’re out too.” She looked at the sky, “But, can we hurry this along?”

Sections of the Clave were breaking out in chatter when Kieran stepped forward. He was the last of the Downworlders to make a stand. “I am a Unseelie Prince of Faerie, Emissary of the Seelie Queen, I ride with the Wild Hunt, and I speak on behalf of all the wild Fae not of the Courts, who have been persecuted by the Cold Peace.”

He did like long titles, Emma thought annoyed at his elitist self-importance. She knew they needed him, but that didn’t mean she liked him, or had forgiven him for his role in her whipping. “I was at your Council’s meeting to bear testimony for my father’s destructive acts and to warn you of his intention to make war on you. That has not changed. But, now I have united with the other Downworlders, as Fae, to protect my lands and my people—to stop this dark magic from infringing on both our worlds. With the Accords broken a new Alliance has formed. The Cold Peace is ended,” he proudly announced.

It was Julian’s turn again. “I renounce the Clave,” he stated with calm surety. “I am a Shadowhunter. I reaffirm my oath to Raziel to fight against evil where it arises, be the sword against demons, and guardian to the weak and the innocent. But, I will no longer be complicit, nor turn a blind eye to the evils of the Clave—Shadowhunters are welcome to join with the Downworlders in their new Alliance—but understand that each faction is _equally_ represented in making and enforcing of the laws.”

“Is there anyone else here, who wishes to address the Clave?” Julian asked.

Alec stood next to Magnus, taking his hand. “I, Alexander Lightwood renounce my membership with the Clave, and commit to this new Alliance.” Emma was sorry Isabelle and Simon weren’t here—she would like for them to see how noble and proud Alec was in his declaration.

Jace wearily stepped forward. “Clary Fairchild and I have been dispatched to Faerie on Consul Jia Penhallow’s directive these past few weeks. I will confirm that we learned that hidden within the Courts is a weapon Sebastian Morgenstern left behind. We did not learn what exactly it is, or if it is linked to the devastation we witnessed here, but it exists and may have the power to annihilate the Clave. I am fulfilling my last commitment to the Clave by informing you. I also renounce and reaffirm my oath to Raziel,” he said turning to look directly at Julian.

“The Herondales stand with the Blackthorns. We are commandeering the New York Institute for the base of this new Alliance, and other Shadowhunters who can no longer abide by the Clave are welcome.”

Clary walked up to Jace and put her hand in his. “I am a Fairchild, and I too stand apart now from the Clave.”

Helen spoke with Mark standing beside her, her voice was clear with one’s who dignity was finally restored. There were snickers in the Clave—they were not sorry to lose her, but there was shock when Aline stood by her wife. Having a Consul’s daughter excommunicate herself was a big deal to the Clave. Jia still had a lot of support, and Emma was saddened to see the look that passed between the Penhallows and their daughter. She hoped that Jia and Patrick would be proud of their daughter, but whatever reaction they had was schooled into a political mask of indifference, and Emma’s heart broke a little bit on Aline’s behalf.

But, Emma was flabbergasted that Cristina spoke as well. It made sense, with her wish for the ending of the Cold Peace—this gave her an opportunity to do it, to have a real impact, but she was basically divorcing herself from her familial heritage of the Rosales family and giving insult to her mother who ran the Mexico Institute. By this declaration, she could never go back, and Emma wished there had been time to discuss this before she’d made such a monumental decision.

Emma also noticed that Diego didn’t say anything, just sat there rubbing that damn Centurion pin of his. Then again, nobody had bothered to fill him in on their plans ahead of time. It must have been a shock—still Emma wished there was another nearby ant hill she could throw him on top of.

Emma moved forward to take her turn, but Julian held her back. _What the hell?_ The thought flowed from her mind. _Later_ , was softly whispered for her ears alone. She bristled at that. More plans then, that he hadn’t bothered to tell her about. This was getting old.

There was an uproar of shouts and exclamations: “How dare you!” “How will we portal home without the warlocks?”, “Good riddance— “, “We’re better off without their interference,” to go along with several imaginative gestures.

There was also an uproar in the other direction, too. There were more than a few Shadowhunters that fought in the Mortal War and were not happy with the new direction the Clave was taking. She could feel the sizzling energy of divisiveness and antagonism through the projection.

She was expecting violence to erupt again. A precedent had been set, with Annabel, and with that hostility came bloodshed. Maia tapped the charm and the projection faded from their view. The internal politics of the Clave was no longer their concern.

~~~       

They were alone again in the cold and quiet. The mood of the group was subdued. There was relief, but it was mixed with a nervous anticipation knowing all the hard work that was ahead of them.

Their gauntlet was thrown. The Clave could come after them, but to come at them now meant they were coming after a united downworld too. Emma didn’t know if even the Clave was that stupid—still the Silent Brothers and Iron Sisters weren’t going to let her and Julian go. Julian may have put up a road block with their membership in this new Alliance, but Emma knew the Orders would see their curse as a greater danger.

“Clary, Magnus, are one of you strong enough to make a portal out of here?” Julian asked. 

“I think I can,” Magnus said. He was giving Clary a worried looked—she was drooping, a step away from passing out. “I think, biscuit here needs to sit this one out.”

Emma went over and gave her friend a hug, and they whispered to each other: Clary visibly upset. By his clenched jaw, Jace noticed it too.

Julian caught Magnus’ attention, pulled him out of earshot of the others. He pointed to the Alliance rune, burned white like a lightning bolt into the warlock’s skin. “We did that to save your life, but I don’t know if that means we’re going to drag you down with us. I don’t suppose it could mean your sanity could help us? Is that a possibility?”

“Those are thoughts and questions I have no idea the answers to,” he asked perplexed. “This is all uncharted territory and I think the less people know about this, the better.” Well, at least Magnus was really motivated to help them now. This wasn’t something Julian planned in his grand schemes, but he’d make the best of the situation.

“You share our strength, do we share any of your warlock abilities?”

Magnus gaped at him. “Is it not enough, this power you share with Emma?” he practically hissed. Julian wondered if Magnus shot a blast of magic at him, if it would rebound back to Magnus. Just how tied were they?

Julian didn’t answer that question. “Do you know how long the rune will last, or if it’s permanent? It looks permanent, although different.”

“No offense, Julian, but I really don’t wish to be connected to you for any longer than I absolutely have to be.” He seemed a bit sulky, like Mark did when a coat rack declined to dance with him.

That brought a quirk of a smile to Julian’s lips. He almost forgot what humor and amusement was like.

The portal shimmered open and their rag tag crew filed out, Kieran viciously cursing, but anchored firmly between Mark and Cristina. He was having a tantrum like a child—it was a good thing the Clave didn’t see it, they wouldn’t have taken his grandstanding seriously. Magnus would see to it Mark, Cristina and Kieran made it back to the Praetor House, and Diana had Gwyn coming. The Hunt would escort the Blackthorns back to L.A., but they had a few precious hours alone, before responsibilities called them away again. 

“We’re not going with them?” Emma asked lost and confused.

“No, we still have unfinished business.”


	17. Sex in the Ashes

Dawn. At first it looked like it could almost be pretty, a lavender or periwinkle—but the clouds weren’t right, and there was a too pink coating on the sky, like neon cotton candy.

“What color is the sky?” Emma asked.

He looked up. “There’s too much magenta,” he said. Would he paint the story of this battle someday? It would probably be the story of a battle the Clave would never believe even happened. “I think it’s clearing out though. Whatever this was, it affected the earth below and the sky above.”

They’d found a river close by, flooded by the remains of the storm. It was still untouched by the blight, cool and clear. It was a small grace to find something so clean and pure running after the landscape they’d just walked through, someplace where there was still life. The scent of pine and damp earth, spongy mosses and growing things refreshed his senses.

The storm above had passed, but they were still soaked and were both streaked with soot and unmentionables. Julian was efficient in removing his gear and Emma flinched when she saw is hand. “Julian!” she sucked in a breath. It was his right one, the one that had held the stele to draw the rune in glacial ice of the shadow. It hadn’t hurt, and now he knew why. It didn’t hurt because he couldn’t feel it.

His entire hand was burned with frostbite, the tips of his fingers already turning darkish blue and his fingers looked cracked and scaly, puffy red swelling puckering around the edges. He tried to move them, but they were stiff and angry. She grabbed the stele, but as soon as she moved toward him she stopped herself.

“I don’t know what to do,” she whispered. “I shouldn’t—we can’t keep using this power. But, I’m afraid if I don’t you might lose your fingers,” she said. He’d never known her to be indecisive before. He examined his hand. If the black was already deadened skin, he might lose part of his fingers anyway.  He held out his hand to her, knowing she’d try.

“Why didn’t you have Magnus look at this before he left?”           

He shrugged. “I didn’t realize how bad it was, and I sort of had other things on my mind.”

“Yes, being a revolutionary,” she quipped. “You could have warned me.”

“A revolutionary is someone who engages in a political revolution, usually by violent means. I see myself more as an excommunicated reformationist. I’m not trying to change the politics of the Clave—that’s impossible. I just am working around them. That’s something different. Why do you never pay attention in class?” He’d finished rinsing his hand in the water, it was as clean as it was going to get. “Besides, I didn’t think they’d actually do it.”

She gave him an annoyed look, and he wanted more than anything to kiss her. She looked rumpled and adorable. She held his wrist in his hands, gently. A tender Emma was a sight to behold. Her lines were small and tight as the adamas caressed his inner wrist in a tingly warm glow in what was becoming familiar white light laced with the fire of gold. It flowed into his body to his fingertips, but also to soothe the other aches and pains, a sore shoulder, a slightly twisted knee. He breathed deep, and wiggled his fingers. The tips were still numb, but he felt his pulse in them and the color changed to a healing pink. The nails even grew long enough that he could commence with his nail biting habit without gnawing into the flesh.

She was right: giving each other these runes was dangerous. He didn’t think it was because it invited the curse closer, but because he thought it was more like the feeling of drug addiction—to have that one moment of pure bliss rolling through his body.

God, he wanted her.

He waded out into the river and rinsed their gear as best they could while she did her own ablutions. He couldn’t help staring as she unpeeled her gear to rinse the ash and soot and grosser things.  Julian was shirtless, his pale skin one large swath of gooseflesh, as he cupped freezing water in his hands, rubbed his face and hair clean. He felt her staring at him, and a punch of lust and desire hit his groin, so much that he almost doubled over. Come to think of it cold showers had never helped in the past either—so a glacial river wasn’t going to do him much good.

Emma’s fists clenched behind her back, her brown eyes wide. She looked unbelievably vulnerable as she tried to hide her desire from him. She bit her lip and tried to look innocent. How could he not have known this is how she’d tried to hide her desire for him in the last few weeks. Maybe even longer than weeks. He recognized that look now for what it was, but had seen it so many times on her face over the years—as they practiced together, fell asleep sided by side, ate pancake breakfasts—when she told him she was going on a date with Cameron.

She shook her head, no. _We can’t,_ her mind whispered in his. He loved having her that close that their minds touched each other in thought. It was so intimate, and she couldn’t hide from him, not anymore. He _felt_ her desire as if it were his own, his blood and bones, sparking and popping to life his own desire desperately seeking to meet hers.

Her braid was half undone, all she was wearing was a wet tank top, her nipples hard, and poking through. Three seconds and he could have her pants off and be inside her. “You were arguing with Clary. What was that about?” he asked voice strangled. Something, anything to distract him from this need to push her to the ground. 

She blinked a few times as if trying to refocus her own prurient thoughts. Someday he wanted to have the time for her to do whatever she wanted to him, whatever it was she was thinking that made her eyes glaze like that—every time they’d been together had been so fast and rushed and desperate—he wanted to know what it would be like for them to savor each other. She was starving for him, too. He knew that now, could feel her hunger as his own.

“It was that obvious?” she quirked a little grin at him, looking relieved by the distraction.

“To me. Clary didn’t like whatever you said to her. Jace noticed. I know that,” he said.

She frowned then, a little crease forming between her brow—he wanted to kiss that worry away. “You know how Magnus has dreams?” she asked.

He nodded.

“Clary does too. She thinks it’s messages from the angels. She said she’s had them before, during the Dark War.”

He stilled in anxious curiosity. “And what do her dreams tell her?”

Emma shrugged, uncomfortable. “Warnings—maybe about all this,” she waved at the charcoal landscape behind him. “Maybe the end of the world. They sounded a lot like what Magnus told you. She said she saw me fighting with Cortana, with the promise to never give up.”

“You never would.” No, his Emma would fight recklessly to the end, with everything she had. Sometimes she terrified him.

“She also said she saw her death,” Emma said, snapping Julian’s attention. “Not the how of it, or anything as specific as that, more like a clairvoyance that is was going to happen. And soon.”

He stopped her there. “That’s why you were being overprotective?”

“Yeah. She wanted me to be the one to tell Jace and the others that she knew it was coming, and that she’d made peace with it.”

“Why you? Why put you in that position?” He said heatedly.

“She said she couldn’t tell them—that Jace would freak, and Simon would think she needed therapy.” Emma looked sheepish and ashamed. “I was so angry that Clary could see these messages in her dreams, but she didn’t see anything about Livvy. That she’s treating this like some inevitable fate, willing to die like some martyr, and not even having the decency to say goodbye to the people she loves. She’s stealing that from them. Livvy’s death was so sudden—we didn’t get a chance to say goodbye,” her voice trailed off to a whisper. Shadowhunters deaths often came suddenly and with violence. Her parents. His father. He’d never considered himself lucky before to have had that time with his mother before her lingering sickness finally claimed her to say his goodbyes.

“And maybe by keeping quiet she’s denying them the chance to do something to save her—if she really believes that. Emma, they’ll blame you if that happens—that you didn’t warn them. That’s not fair to you.” He paced out of the river shivering. “So, that’s what your argument was about?”

“Yeah, but Julian, she also said that she had a vision of a rune. She didn’t know what it meant, or how it was to be used. She thought it was meant for us, though.”

His breath stopped. “Do you think it could be something to help break the curse? Or to change our _parabatai_ rune somehow?”

Emma took a stick and traced the rune in the mud. “This was it. Runes take a long time to learn, but when she drew it, it was like I recognized it. I look at it though and I can’t put the feeling I get into words—I don’t know if it has a translation for mortal language. What do you think?”

He stared hard, letting his mind go to a fuzzy space trying not to think too hard and just let the image be absorbed into his mind. All he felt was disappointment. “I don’t get the feeling it will help us with the bond,” his laugh was brittle. “Our little mortal dilemmas are not on the radar of Angels. That would be too easy, wouldn’t it?”

She grabbed his hands, interlaced her fingers with his, and squeezed his heart. “You said we’d find a way, and I believe you. I’ll cut you a clear path, and you do your scary Julian thing, and between us we’ll figure it out.”

He pulled her into his arms and kissed her bare shoulder. He felt her shiver beneath him, the wet cotton hardly a barrier, the contact of her skin prickled every one of his nerve endings alive with pleasure _. I just want to stay forever like this with you_ , and the thought was gone on the wind. He knew she’d heard it.

“When did she get this vision?” he asked.

“She told me about it last night.” She pulled herself out of his arms, giving them some badly needed space.

“And today we portaled into the circle,” he was thoughtful. He grabbed her hand and led them back into the ashen landscape. With the head of that Shadow demon gone, all the minions had been destroyed too. Nothing was left but a hollowed crematorium of a forest in grayscale as they trekked closer to the center of the blight.

“Where are we going?” she asked keeping up with his fast pace.

“So maybe has something to do with the circle?”

“Like what?” she asked.

“It was because we were parabatai the rune worked to destroy that greater demon. Maybe we are the only ones who can make that rune work in this circle.”

She stopped him. “Julian, we need to stop using this power.”

“You don’t know that the more we use it the faster it will bring on the curse,” he said.

“I’m surprised your willing to take that chance. We have to be careful about this.” He didn’t answer, simply continued his trek. She groaned and followed him.

One of his ulterior motives in planning this scouting mission was to see if the space inside the blight—where all magic ended, would perhaps be a safe place for them. If exile could deaden the bond, could a place of no magic do the same? He’d hoped their _parabatai_ bond wouldn’t work here. If he could have built a castle on a mound of ashes, a home here with Emma, he would have.

That wasn’t too far off from what the Silent Brothers did—on their necropolis of bones and ashes of all the Shadowhunters that had gone before. _That_ thought chilled him.

It was still difficult to be in the area. They’d vanquished the spreading evil, but the death all around them still felt awful. None of his other runes were working, and he was already tiring. This place was still a magical dead space. The only thing that worked was the love connecting him to his _parabatai_ —to Emma.

He tripped over his own feet as a beautiful, horrible, awful and wonderful thought flickered into his mind.

She caught him from wiping out, her eyebrows quirked in concern. God, she was beautiful, a smudge of charcoal smeared on her cheek. He couldn’t help but trace the path with his finger. Her breath hitched. _Julian_ , her plea, his name, the feel the words traced on his mind, the way they were fingers traced on his skin. He was helpless when she said his name like that.

He leaned down, lips gently meeting hers, tasting her with excruciating slowness. Tugs and nips along her lower lip he groaned deeply.

Whenever they’d kissed it was always a storm of desperation, but not this time. He stroked and teased, whispered how he loved her in her ear, moved tiny kisses along her jaw and down her neck. It was a long seduction, savoring every touch, refusing to be rushed even as she wrapped her legs around his hips in a death grip. _Come closer,_ the only thought in her mind.

He might never get a chance to taste her like this again, be with her again. It wasn’t going to be perfect with beds and candles and romance—it would be in this catastrophic place and somehow sweeter for it.

“We can’t,” she whispered half-heartedly, desperate for him to be the one to pull away because she wasn’t strong enough. Had she realized her legs were wrapped around his waist, her mouth on his, how her skin electrified under his touch. He did this for her, made her feel this way and it humbled him to know he could give her this gift of himself. He would never be the one to say stop.

He felt the war in her to both push him away and pull him closer. _One last time, Emma, please_ , he coaxed. She didn’t want to say no, and he felt her yield to his determination. It was intoxicating.

They had their own language in their bodies, of each touch and kiss, soft breaths and within a few minutes his body took hers to the ground.

Dizzy and alive as he pushed inside her. Julian set the rhythm, agonizing in his slowness. She wanted to move, to go faster, but every time she tried to take control he pulled her back, slowed her down and he smiled as she groaned in both parts pleasure and frustration. He had learned enough of her body now to have confidence in what she liked. A stroke here and she hummed, a biting kiss of lips and teeth and she keened. It was like he was playing her body as a musical instrument.

He wouldn’t let her go faster, rush to the end. He stretched out their time together reigning in the idea of a hurried end, all the while making sure the wave crested higher. Her eyes stung with tears as her thoughts slipped enough for him to read her mind. _Yes, I want this to last. It will be the last time_. Not even if they had forever, would it be long enough.

He pulled back from her then, stared directly into her eyes with an intensity she both loved and scared her. There weren’t any places for the fear in her soul to hide when he looked at her like that. “This isn’t over Emma. It will never be over between us. No matter how many lives we live together, I’m never letting you go. Not in this one either.” And he kissed her tears away.

~~~       

A long time later they were still curled into one another bodies. The chirping of birds and the lavender sky told them time continued on and dawn was creeping into morning. His calloused thumb traced her cheekbone, a gentle cradling, like he needed to reassure himself that she was real. “Your eyes are lighter. They look light lighted amber.”

“A step away from an Iron Sister,” she sighed. She traced her own fingers into the deep shadows under his eyes. Would he physically change too because of the curse, Magnus told him he’d be unrecognizable as human, was that metaphorical or physical—like in the way of the Silent Brothers? “Are you going to tell me why you stopped me from joining the others in breaking from the Clave?”

He sighed, looking at the landscape of tree trunks of bones and the ground of ash. “I don’t think the Seelie Queen can listen in with her scrying glass, in the same way she couldn’t track Annabel with the Black Volume. I suppose this is a good as time as any to strategize.”

“You didn’t tell me about any of this,” she said letting that heat of anger flash. “You blindsided me with this.”

He continued stroking her shoulder in small circles, completely unbothered by her change of mood. “The thought of breaking from the Clave has been in the back of my mind for a while now, I just couldn’t see a way where they wouldn’t come after us. But, that changed with the backing of the Downworlders. For as awful as the Cohort is, they gave me this opportunity—a common enemy.”

“You seemed surprised they backed you, though,” she said hesitantly.

“They didn’t back me, Emma. They are doing this to protect themselves. They have to do it for themselves, I only showed them the path. I think I was surprised because I’ve lost a lot of faith that there is anyone left who is interested in still doing the right thing.”

Her hand moved down to the rough stubble of his jaw. “I like this.” And she really did like the sandpapery feel as he kissed her body. She’d take that kind of road rash on her skin any day. “You still haven’t told me why.”

His hand rubbed his eyes in tiredness. “I burned my bridges with the Clave today, but if there ever comes a time, you can still go to Idris, stand before the Council—make arguments, urge sense,” he explained.

“So, you want to use my bridge to sneak inside the Clave?” she asked confused. “They all hate me for the Mortal Sword, the Centurions are after me.”

“It may not always be like that—it’s best to keep as many options open.” He was quiet for a long time, thinking. “Did you notice I didn’t join the Alliance?”

“HuH?” she asked astonished. She flipped back to the conversation.

“I was specific,” he said helping to jog her memory. “After I renounced the Clave, I said Shadowhunters were welcome to join, not that I did.”

Her mouth dropped open. “Shit! Julian, everyone assumes—“ He stopped her with a kiss.

“Yes, I know everyone assumes. I’m counting on that,” he said trying mollify her.

She looked at him trying to figure out all these chess moves he was plotting in his head—moves so far ahead of anyone else, she was worried she’d never figure all of him out—and he was her _parabatai_. Again, she wondered how she could not know this was going on in his mind? This was the very reason why he sometimes scared her.

“That’s such a Fae thing to do,” she said cautiously. “Why on earth did you do that?”

“We need to talk about what happens next, Emma,” he finally said. “We’re going to the Unseelie Court, but we have to visit the Seelie Queen first. We have our own bargaining to do, and I won’t be bound by the tethers of a new Alliance. The Alliance could expect things of me that are not in our direct interest. I won’t give her a Downworlder army to fight her personal war with the King—And since I’m not technically affiliated I can’t negotiate those terms on behalf of the Alliance. The Cold Peace is ended, that is delivered to her, and she will have to be happy with that. This gives us freedom Emma.” He was so sincere, but she felt like there were too many uncertain and capricious possibilities that no amount of genius could account for—the unpredictability of people, for one. Annabel.

“But, you’re still influential,” she said slowly thinking it through, “and have left your options open if you change your mind.”

“Now you’re getting it,” he smiled a boyish grin that reminded her of when they were young. Sheepish and shy. She would never fall for that look again.

“Ugh! I hate this,” she said getting up to find her clothes. They were all muddied again. She was muddied again too.

“I know. I’m sorry we’re in this mess,” he said. That, she believed.

Time for the logic of an old argument then. “I still think it has to be me that goes to Faerie, Julian. You know you can’t leave the kids, not now. And if I’m there it might be enough distance to protect us from the bond. Just keep away from the Silent Brothers—stay at the New York Institute where you’ll be safe until this is all over. Believe me, I will find Annabel,” bitterness and rage sparked like lightning through her. Oh, what she was going to do to Annabel when she found her.

She expected an argument, but his burning blue green eyes simply searched her face. He twined his fingers with hers, pulled her against his chest so his familiar heartbeat was a steady tattoo against her ear. His other hand massaged soothingly against the back of her skull winding through her hair. He’d always loved her hair.

“I knew you were going to say that—That it would be exactly what you wanted to do.” There was an underlying mirth that rubbed her the wrong way. “I’ve been told so many times about my ruthlessness. Even you’ve said that I’ve frightened you, and maybe you should be. But, Emma you positively terrify me.”

He eyes grew wide. “Me?” she asked shocked. “Why?”

“You are absolutely reckless to the point you have no regard for your own life,” he said with a certainty that annoyed her. “You let rage rule you in battle, rather than sense. You knocked me out so you could take a whipping meant for me, where you almost _died_. You locked me inside of the Institute while you went to face off six vengeful Riders by yourself,” the edge of anger rocked his voice, frown lines of disapproval bracketing his mouth. “Remember that? Anytime, anyplace—you chase danger like you’re having your own personal affair with Thanatos, and you expect me to let you go off with him.”

She cringed, because in all fairness he did have a point.

“God, Emma. It feels like death is chasing me, chasing this family, and you go off and challenge it.” That terrible vulnerability crept inside his voice again and she shuddered against his pain. His voice was very quiet when he said: “Leave me, too?”

He could have sounded angry, but with every emotion laid bare she was starkly reminded of how often he admitted the only reason he made it through the most difficult times was because she was always the one there for him. How sometimes she was the only one who was there to take care of him. He’d exposed all his vulnerabilities and fears opening his heart to her.

“No, Julian, it’s not like that. We’re Shadowhunters, that’s what we do.”

“I _know_ you. You’re all about sacrificing yourself to keep the ones you love safe. I love that about you. But, there’s a part of me that doesn’t trust you, because of that,” he added in a harsh whisper.

_What?_ She was too shocked to speak. It was a gasp in her mind, incomprehensible.

“I know you say you will never give up, but I’m worried the only way you think the bond can be broken without using the Black Volume is if you die, because that is the only other way to break it. Understand me, Emma, I am _not_ going to let that happen.” He was coldly fierce in his determination.         

“Maybe I’m less afraid of death than I used to be,” she admitted. “When I meet it, I will see my parents again. And Livvy. But, Julian, I won’t get to see the kids grow up. I want to be there for that. I want them not to miss me the way that I miss my parents.”

She knew he was partly right and she’d never really given much thought or consideration as to why she was so reckless. There had always been a part of her that sought danger, pushed limits—but with her parents gone she hadn’t really had anybody to reign her in, worry about her—except Julian. Diana was a good tutor, but she didn’t live with them and she wasn’t their parent. She remembered Diana’s words though: _“It’s twelve- year-old Emma that reacts to anything to do with your parents, not almost-adult Emma.”_

Maybe that statement had a lot more to do with her in general, than just being about her parents.  And Julian had always let her do whatever she wanted. Only now she was realizing how selfish that may have been, not to consider more what affects her actions had on him—she’d just taken for granted that he would always be there to accept her careless attitude. And maybe that hadn’t been fair to him.

“Death chases everyone, Julian,” she said. “Even the immortals like the Fae or Magnus—they will die someday. Even the stars you say we were born together from—they will age, collapse and die. Maybe the Universe and God, our angels and every demon are being chased by it too. We’ll all change. I think that’s what life may be about, changing from one thing to the next. Learning to survive and adapt. Grieve and hopefully not be so scarred along the way not to give up on loving again. Hope again. Did you ever think that I’m also terrified of something happening to you too?”

“I wanted it to work,” he mumbled absently. “These circles are places where Nephilim runes don’t work. I hoped our _parabatai_ one wouldn’t either. That even if I had to build us a castle on top of it, it might be someplace safe for us.”

“Why only that one then? Do you know?” she asked.

“I love you more than the stars themselves. Maybe that has its own kind of magic—something all this can’t even touch. In the Bible it says that ‘love is as strong as death’—that’s the only clue I have to go on.”

“Then what do you think happened? Why the curse?” she asked.

“I’m thinking someone didn’t like _Parabatai_ wielding the level of power we can do, sometimes it feels limitless. It’s a good check on our power,” he said.

“You almost sound approving,” she accused.

“I understand the strategy of it. I’m ruthless—or so Kieran keeps telling me.”

“You’re not though.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure, Em.”

“You do what you have to do to protect the people you love. There’s a difference.”

He was quiet for a long time. “I’m ruthless when it comes to you too, Emma,” he said in that warning tone that made her nervous.

She didn’t like this Julian, the one that was the most dangerous when he was calmest. Fine hairs along her body rose to attention and she shivered in a way that had nothing to do with the cold. It was the one that scared her—made her suspicious, like he had already made plans to outmaneuvered her somehow. He was a plotter and a schemer. While she trusted him, she was also getting a funny recurring feeling that he’d done something she wasn’t going to like. “You did something,” she discerned.

He nodded, and took a deep breath, looked her directly in the eye. “Runes melt away in these circles Emma. Even your permanent ones didn’t work. He traced the back of her hand that had the open vision site rune. The only runes you’re wearing now are your permanent ones.” He sighed and she felt strange foreboding, like he was going to say something monumental.

“No birth control rune, Emma.”

She felt her eyes widen and she jerked away from him to check her calf, but he was right. What was worse is she racked her brain trying to remember if it had been there after they left the Faerie Courts. She hadn’t applied another one after—it hadn’t even occurred to her. That meant this wasn’t their only unprotected time together. She could have gotten pregnant from their night in Malcolm’s cottage.

“ _You knew!”_ she hissed at him as panic settled through her. She couldn’t even think of where she was in her cycle, but she was very sure he knew exactly. “You wouldn’t have done that— “

“Yes. I knew. You were so scared after Jem told you about the Iron Sisters, I knew you’d think you were trapped—”

“And having a baby wouldn’t?” she exclaimed. “You can’t make a decision like that without me!”

“Emma, I couldn’t take the chance you’d consider death as an option. To free me. I heard it in your voice, touched your resolve with my mind—even if it’s not something you’ll admit to yourself. I felt it in the way you touched me like it was going to be our last time. _It will not be_.” He was vehement, zealous in his conviction. “And in the meantime, I know that you’ll keep yourself alive if only to protect a life inside you. I bound you to me as _parabatai_ when I was fourteen. I will bind you to me with children, with marriage, in whatever way I have to. Do you understand?” His voice rose to almost a shout, that chiseled calm of his breaking.

He was so very angry at past choices, at fate, at the Clave, at not being able to live the life he truly wanted.

“You had no right!” she yelled back.

She stood up and dressed quickly. Emma loved Julian more than anything in the world, but at the moment she couldn’t look at him. She felt hot tears on her face. _Oh, Julian, not like this!_ He grabbed her wrist and turned to face him. “Don’t get scared Emma. I think of a little girl with your blond hair and my curls and Blackthorn eyes.” He suddenly looked very shy and unsure. “We could name her Livia.”

God, he was going to break her heart. “Julian—no this wasn’t right.”

“I don’t care if it was right. I care about you living. Now if it has to be one of us who dies, it will be me,” he shouted. A world of self-blame and responsibility crashed through his words, as if he wished it was him Annabel had killed. It was exactly what that bitch wanted him to feel and Emma hated her all the more for it.

“No! No Julian, Livvy wouldn’t want that. And everyone else in your family. Ty who I can’t imagine how he’ll get through this, Tavvy. Dru? Even Mark and Helen.”

“Then you understand what I’m feeling, because none of it will matter if you die too.”

Like strings on a dummy she collapsed onto the trunk of an overturned tree. She felt sticky sap and a waft of charred pine needles by her feet. “Everything seems so impossible right now.”

The despair was back. Was this intense teetering of emotions finally a symptom of the curse? Her eyes. Julian had shadows beneath his eyes but she thought that was normal between grief and exhaustion. He still had the bluest green eyes filled with steely resolve. But none of this was all right.

“I need you to trust me. I know how to fix this,” he said.

The Black Volume and the breaking of the _parabatai_ bond: That’s what he meant. Did he think the Clave was going to just let them off the hook, go off to lead a happily ever after life, the dream one where they lived in a cottage raising a little girl? “Trust you?” she said numbly. “After this? By the Angel, Julian—“ She needed to be away from him for a couple of minutes. She turned her back to pace, try to find her footing beneath the haze of ash and charcoal. “Is this the madness then? The curse? Because the Julian I know would _never_ have done this to me. Make a decision like that without even talking to me about it first.”

It was the last thing she wanted to say—to admit to.

“Emma, I’ve spent a lot of time hiding myself from you. Even before we were _parabatai_. I needed you to believe in me so you’d stay. I lied in our ceremony that it was what I wanted with you. I _did_ want you, just not in the way _parabatai_ are supposed to.” He was choking on emotion, and desperation and fear. “But you didn’t love me, you only saw me as your best friend so I thought I could live with it. Now there can’t be anymore secrets. This is who I am. If you choose not to love me still, it would make everything easier, but you can’t, can you?”

In one dominant stride he pushed her up to a blackened ruined tree. They were the only things alive in the cold ash. Bright blond hair, blue green eyes and a gentle flush of desire, a delicate pink flooding his cheeks to match the last golden embers of the summer sun on her skin.” He looked older, finally cracking under all the pressure of every decision he’d ever made. He brushed his lips along her neck and she almost orgasmed on the spot. It renewed her fury to feel her body betray her as much as Julian just had. She couldn’t hide her physical response to him, and tell him she didn’t like it because he knew her too well, and would know that she lied. She needed him too, desperately, and at the moment hated him for it.

“Tell me you still don’t love me Emma,” he challenged. “Even when you can see all of me. Tell me, and I’ll let you go.”

She couldn’t say the words because he was her anchor as much as she was to him. _Not like this_ , her mind screamed at him. What he’d said about hope, she understood it—and as long as they could believe in each other, they could somehow manage to figure a way out of this together—but this was a line he never should have crossed. He had shattered her trust—how did one come back from that?

She tried to wet her dry lips and tasted residual flakes of dust from the air. Gentle rain began to fall, as the sky cried with her. She didn’t want to taste death, she wanted to taste the life Julian was offering.

She shook her head. _No I can’t say it_ —the thought was a private one in her mind, but he heard it, anyway.

He seemed to relax in relief.

She felt dizzy again and this time not from the exhilaration of a fight or making love. “You have such hopes, but I don’t know if this betrayal is something I can forgive.”

“I understand that you need time. I just didn’t know how else to make this happen. And I haven’t given up hope on us. _The day I do is the day I lose you_.” He took her hands in his once again. He was kneeling in front of her, a supplicant. She didn’t pull away from him. “And you may not be pregnant, but until you know for sure—you’ll take care of yourself. You won’t be so reckless, so self-sacrificing, not when you have something else to protect. That’s what I need right now. Ok?”

He didn’t sound remorseful. How could he not understand how this was a betrayal against her? “We made promises not to lie to each other, that’s what you just did. You didn’t _ask_ me, Julian!” God, she’d never been this mad at him in her life.

She didn’t know how she felt about any of this, her emotions a whirlwind of chaos, between anger and fear, and love and desperation. Hope—that’s what they could both cling too. God, she could be pregnant with Julian’s baby—how could she not be thrilled by the thought?

“There’s more,” he said.

She stiffened her spine preparing herself for whatever new scheme he was crazy enough to concoct. Dread was becoming an unwelcome threesome in their relationship. “What else! What aren’t you telling me.”

 

~~~

He rooted around in the pocket of his gear and pulled out a necklace. On the end was some kind of metal vial. She didn’t know why it scared her so much to look at it.

“What is that?” she asked hoarsely.

“It’s a vial of vampire blood.”

“ _What?_ How did you get that?” Emma whispered in shock.

“Lily. She thinks she gave it to me so I can analyze it—experiment to see how this necromancy affects it.”

Emma’s lips were numb with growing horror. No, he wouldn’t, a new fear exploding in her. “You should give it to Ty then—“

He gripped her arms roughly pulled her so she couldn’t look away. “Emma, that’s not why I got it and you _know_ it.” Julian sucked in air readying himself. “Another option, now that we’ve separated from the Clave—I could become a Downworlder. It wasn’t an option when it meant losing my family, but I’m willing to make the sacrifice if it comes to that.”

“You can’t—“

“Do you believe you’re the only one who will have to sacrifice themselves?”

She looked at him with a slight mix of dismay and alarm. “How long have you been thinking about this?” she asked. _And how could I not know you were thinking this,_ the thought whispered in his mind. _Any of this? Do I even know you anymore?_

Her voice sounded weak in her own ears. “Have you taken it already?”

“Not yet,” he said.

Her entire body sagged with relief. There wasn’t anything that needed to be undone—yet.

“I would have rather chosen a wolf,” he said surprising her.

“Then why vampire blood?” By the Angel, how were they even having this conversation?

“Because wolves aren’t around for me to get scratched or bitten by, and an infection isn’t guaranteed. It’s unpredictable.”

“Please don’t turn into a vampire for me,” she whispered.

“I won’t lose my soul. Raziel said vampires still possess theirs. Becoming undead didn’t change who Simon was,” he said with determination. He forced her to look at him, to see that truth.

“You don’t lose your soul because it becomes trapped in an animated corpse!” she added angrily.

“But I’d still be here with you. I will still love you and the kids. That won’t change,” he said.

“And now that we’re no longer aligned with the Clave or have to follow their rules you don’t have to be separated from them, from me,” she understood his logic. It made sense, even if she didn’t agree.

“It’s a double break to the bond. Both the severing by becoming a Downworlder, and another one because I’ll be dead,” he went on his determination only growing. “Just to be sure.”      

Her stomach dropped out from that comment. _Because I’ll be dead._ She shook her head no, no, please don’t let this be happening. “By the Angel, Julian how many plan Bs do you have?” She hated that he had to do this, was always being put in a position where he had to make decisions from awful to worse.

“As many options as I can put on the table. And it can’t be you,” he added. “You may be pregnant and the transition would kill a child.” He didn’t look guilty. “If I do this, Emma—vampires, they can’t have kids. This might have been the only chance we got at having a child together.”

Her eyes widen. “You were thinking this was your last chance?” she asked anger turning to numbness. She blinked back tears. “It makes more sense now, why you did this. Not that you didn’t tell me, but I get it now, more than before. Why didn’t you just tell me any of this? Ask me first?”

“Emma, I know you. I couldn’t take the risk you would say no.” He looked defeated like he’d already accepted the fact that she somehow wouldn’t want to have a baby with him.

“But you don’t know what I would have said,” she whispered.

Julian sucked in his breath. It looked like he was about to say something, but he rubbed his hands over his face in frustration instead. “I’m hoping to find another way, that we could break our bond and still be who we are. I didn’t want it to come to this,” he said.

“You’ll never go out into the sun and you’ll live forever.” It was a fact. “And someday, I’ll grow old and die, and you won’t.” This was too much to take in. _Julian, a vampire?_

“I’ll taste the sun on your skin, Emma. I can paint my own memories of sunsets and the daytime in the color of your hair. But, I wouldn’t want to live without you. I’ll choose my own death, when your time comes. Magnus pointed out being immortal is no guarantee of a long life. Ours will always be surrounded by violence and I’ll fight with you by my side for however long I’m here—whatever form I take. If I’m going to become a monster anyway, I might as well choose which kind.”

Emma still wasn’t ready to give up. “Jem said that it was too late to have our marks stripped. That it would kill us. I don’t know if I’d live through having our _parabatai_ bond cut,” she said honest starkness consuming her. “It would feel like ripping away half of my soul.”

His face was clouded. “I understand that fear—I’ve had similar thoughts. But if we knew what was happening, just stayed with the pain till it was over—know we’d meet each other on the end of it? We could do it. Emma, we _have_ to do it.”

There were very few times she saw Julian so incredibly desperate, where he’d hit some kind of wall and was pass the last of his endurance. The last of his hope. She wondered now if that was why he wanted to be her to be his _parabatai_ so many years ago. If it was a last desperate act on his part and she’d been so wrapped up in her own needs, of finding her parents murderer and clinging to his family in an act of her own desperation that she never saw what it did to him. Not then. And now she felt a horrible guilt for it, because she had been just as complicit as he was.  

Her temper flared. “And you expect me to sit back and let you!” She grabbed for the chain wanting to rip it off his neck. They tousled and fell and rolled in a fight against each other. This wasn’t sparring in practice, this was a mad last ditch effort on both their parts. She would not let him do it, but he was somehow stronger than her, his body too good at predicting her moves, and the next thing she knew her body was sinking into the ash pit of mud, his hands pinning her wrists, his legs pinning hers.

He leaned down so his forehead touched hers. He gave her a soft kiss, gentle butterfly wings and felt her whole body tremble under his touch. He wanted her again with a physical ache that took his breath away as much as it hurt. It was a string plucked to a vibration that pulsed against his soul. 

“Stop,” he whispered.

He wasn’t angry like she was, fevered burned in his shadowed eyes. It was that gentle tone that always got to her and she shook her head. “No, please, Julian.”

He closed his eyes against her plea. 

“What about Clary’s rune? If it was meant for us, I thought that meant it was something only the two of us could do together, because we’re like this.” She would say anything she had to, to prevent him from doing this.

He’d forgotten. The rune, or the reason he dragged her into this blasted circle in the first place. He nodded. “Let’s do it, then.”

~~~

“We shouldn’t even _be_ here together, much less drawing power runes, or having glorious naked sex,” Emma said, struggling to find some sense of equilibrium.

“Glorious, naked sex—Emma stop teasing me, next you’ll be complimenting me on my _glorious_ sword.”

Her jaw dropped. “I can’t believe you just said that.”

It was like they were back to their old selves bantering and teasing and being _them_ together. She didn’t know how long it was going to take before they could rebuild their trust in each other though.

It was a haul, another half a mile, but the lethargy and the breathing of heavy ash made it seem much longer before they finally reached the epicenter. She was bad at math, and couldn’t picture in her mind just how far this devastation stretched out. But, it was big enough to now be seen by mundane satellites and technology. If their glamour runes didn’t hide it the mundanes might see it as a huge bomb blast and send their military or scientists to investigate. That was a whole new level of possible catastrophe, something neither Shadowhunters nor Downworlders wanted.

“This scares me,” she confessed. She wound her hand under his gear, felt the nubs of his spine under her fingertips.

“If the angels gave her a rune, then it’s meant to be used,” he said simply. “Emma, we don’t know how much more time we have together that we’ll be able to use this power. I know you don’t want to use it, but I disagree. The Unseelie King could use the book at any time to break the bond—once he figures it out. Anything we want to do, we should do it now, before we lose the opportunity.”

Her hand move with his as she felt him move the stele with the skill of an artist. She felt a piece of her open up where her entire soul was exposed to him where there were no boundaries, there was not even time, only memory and joy and love—a wave of sunshine and love welling inside her. She gave it all to Julian and what he was drawing. The moment drew out and she felt her whole being relax into the safety of his.

It was a healing feeling.

The rune was a healing rune. She understood that now.

The rune pulsed, flaring blistering white, then grew bigger and wider over the earth. Lightning white tipped with gold, a bright tornadoed whirlwind flew up to the sky. It was pure angelic power freed, becoming a swelling storm as it sank into the earth. They were blasted away from their own power and Julian woke in a heap with the breath knocked out of him. Emma had landed in roll and was already crouched watching the effects of what they’d done.

She couldn’t see the power with her eyes, but felt it, a susurration of gentle waves reaching across the land to touch everything ruined.

The rune soaked into the earth like an iratze. The realization dawned on Julian. It was an iratze for the earth, a healing rune to the world. He’d never heard the like of it before. Smaller items could be runed, weapons, gear—open and closing runes could be used on items, but there had never been a whisper of a possibility of something like this.

She exhaled a sharp breath and collapsed to the ground feeling very giddy and drunk. She may have even laughed. She suspected the rune may have healed a bit of her battered spirit too.

She looked at him with awe on her face as she saw slim green shoots born from the ashes. They had done this. They had somehow begun to heal this scar to their world.

She wanted to rush to each location, and heal every piece of the world that blasted book had ruined. But she knew Julian was right about the Black Volume. It was the only thing that could end this at the root of the problem and prevent more blighted circles from forming—otherwise they’d forever be playing whack-a-mole.

She felt her face break into a wide grin.

That was until she saw his too serious face. “And now we have leverage over the Silent Brothers,” and her heart stuttered in dread. “Because I’d bet this is something they cannot do.”

He wasn’t looking at what they did as something beautiful, but as something else to be used. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not sure how I feel about this chapter. I took Julian to a very dark place. Although the comments on this chapter have been positive, I’ve also gotten some rather nasty ones on Tumblr—in particular how I was romanticizing Julian’s action. It was never my intent to do this. I debated editing Julian’s deception of Emma out, but I left it for three reasons. 
> 
> 1-Up till now he’s been quite reasonable in holding up to all the stresses in his life, but as he considers becoming a vampire for the sake of the safety of his family there is a break in him. He’s broken, grieving and desperate and at some point that desperation is going to have to manifest itself. He can’t repressed it forever.
> 
> 2-There is also the question of the curse. I understand the mechanism of the curse as the reason why Julian and Emma can’t be together, but I never liked the idea of it because it somehow makes the person seem less responsible for his actions. This is actually something I explore between Emma and Julian in the upcoming chapters. What he did was unequivocally wrong and Emma is not the type of person to turn a blind eye. There will be serious consequences. 
> 
> 3-It sets the stage for some very serious conversations between Julian and Emma, the question of trust and her facing his ‘scary’ side—and what the nature of their future relationship will be. Because of this incident, I think those conversations have a lot more depth and intensity than they would have otherwise. 
> 
> I think I lost quite a few readers after this chapter, just based on how little comments I got in the following chapters. But, I want you to know that this isn’t glossed over in upcoming chapters. It was my intention to wrap up as many loose ends as possible as to not leave the readers hanging. The Parabatai curse will be resolved and then it’s going to be up to Julian and Emma as to what to do with their relationship. I’m not going to pull the rug out any more than I already have.


	18. Going Home

It wasn’t difficult securing the building. Zara was looking like a poleaxed queen behind Diana’s glass desk seething in indignation. Her disbelief was almost comical—she didn’t even have a weapon handy. Emma and Julian bound her none too gently in restraints they’d found in the Armory.

“I’d really like to kill her, Julian,” Emma sulked.

“I know,” he soothed. “You’ll just have to keep imagining different forms of painful torture.”

“Please,” she pleaded. “I never ask for much.”

“Emma we talked about this,” he said, his mood improving to joviality. “We give her back to the Clave this time—a token that we can do things peacefully and nonviolently.”

Emma snorted.

“Next time we kill her, and you can spend as much time with her as Manu wanted to spend with you,” he said jerking Zara’s arm back just enough to hear the pop right before a break. She hissed and squealed in pain.

“You’ll never get away with this—“ Zara spluttered, only to have a gag shoved in her mouth. Julian seemingly accidently slipped and Zara’s shoulder popped out of the joint.

“And Emma will be the easy one on you. I hold you responsible for what happened at the Clave meeting, remember the one where my sister was killed.” His voice was scary low and frosted the air with the iciest of threats. “I will _never_ forget that day. And if ever I see your face again, or hear about how you hurt anybody, including a Downworlder again, I will find you. Do you understand?”

The whites of Zara’s eyes bulged in panic. She nodded though, as they continued to set out clearing the rest of the Institute of the cockroaches that had invaded.

They found one Larkspear twin sleeping in bed—that was too easy it was pathetic, and another in the shower. The blood curdling scream from Samantha was right out of _Psycho_. He was sorry Dru missed it, and tucked the story away in his mind to tell to his sister later.

Emma was right. They really needed to work on better training for these Centurions.

~~~

They’d argued again.

In all the years they’d been together, as _parabatai_ —working day in and day out together, they had never fought this much. And while she loved him, she didn’t like him a whole lot right now. What made it worse was that he made exceedingly good points.

They stood on the beach, grainy hot sand under their feet, the sun beating down, staring at the empty Institute. It turned out what Julian meant by handing Zara over to the Clave was rather indirect. They’d ended up handing the Centurions over to the local wolf pack, a gift to the Alliance—they could decide what to do with them. Julian suggested keeping them alive for the opportunity of a hostage trade or some other point of leverage with the Clave for some later date; and Emma bet that’s exactly what they would do. Julian had a reputation now that his suggestions, were no longer mere suggestions.

“It’s to protect the kids,” he said.

She squinted against the sun. “They can go to the New York Institute. It would probably be better for them if they did. Magnus, Alec, Clary—none of them will let anything happen to the kids.”

He shook his head. “Emma, this is their home.”

“It’s an Institute, Julian. It doesn’t belong to the Blackthorns.” She watched him wince at her words. “Home is where your family is,” she added, her voice softening.

“They’ve already lost too much. I won’t have their home taken away too. The L.A. Institute has been baptized in Blackthorn blood. It belongs to us.” Emma’s mind flashed back to the day Sebastian had raided it. She saw in her mind how Andrew and Katarina had become Endarkened, how they’d had to leave Mark behind, as he struggled to give them the extra precious seconds to get through the portal. And she couldn’t forget when Gwyn had come to punish Mark. That time it was Julian’s blood— and her blood that soaked the ground.

If there was such a thing as sympathetic magic then this place was woven with their pain and sacrifice. He was right on that. The family had bled here—died here. But all of the younger children had also been born here. So it was woven with their love and their joys, too. A true legacy of family. 

She sighed. “If you bring them back here and lock them away for their own safety, they’ll end up resenting you for it, Julian. Isolating them from the rest of the world won’t be good for them.”

His head was bent, as he watched his foot kicked up sand. “Ty needs the stability, familiarity. They all do.” He sounded petulant, but determined. She knew he’d do anything to keep his kids safe.

“But Livvy’s not here.” She let that sink in for a moment. Truth was a powerful weapon. “Everything here will remind them of Livvy.” She hated saying this. “Maybe it’s better if he doesn’t come back right away. Coming back here now—none of us are the same people as when we left.”

He looked down at his feet, his bare toes tracing a circle in the sand. His jaw was clenched, his lips pursed. She’d always trusted him to make the best decision on behalf of the kids.

“Emma, it’s not just the kids. My Dad ran the Institute before me, and I’ve spent years trying to honor that legacy—making this a respected place. At first it wasn’t a choice, it was out of desperation—to keep the eyes of the Clave away, but I can’t just let Zara or someone like her come in and undo all the hard work I’ve done to keep the peace with the Downworlders. I’d be abandoning half of California to the Cohort.”

Emma was a warrior and protector, and she didn’t think she could live with herself if Downworlders were killed here under the Cohort’s reign, when he was offering her something proactive she could do to prevent it. They’d removed Zara, but it would only be a matter of time before the Clave sent a replacement.

That was all balanced on the scales against her own fears about Julian’s decline. And a curse that could not only undo all the good he was striving for, but could cascade them all into abject destruction.

That led to a compromise with a phone call to Magnus. Julian explained to him what they had done with Clary’s rune at the blighted area and waited to hear his recommendations. Magnus had felt their pull of power on his Alliance rune, but he wasn’t sure that it showed signs of fading. He was kind enough to portal to L.A. so they could discuss Julian’s new plan.

“I say yes, but Emma’s worried. You’ve been nominated to be our therapist through our descent into hell,” Julian said good naturedly.

“And what have I done to deserve this honor?” His cat eyes flashed. Emma thought they’d maybe run through all of Magnus’ goodwill.

“You’re objective,” Emma said, forcing a bright smile. She pointed to the Alliance rune on Magnus’ arm. It was covered in a long sleeve of shiny foliating satin (eerily similar in color to the new grass shoots in the ashen blight, but she kept her mouth shut on that). The shirt set off the green in his golden eyes. But they all knew they were connected to each other, even if the rune couldn’t be seen. She probably didn’t need to point it out. It was a brand on Magnus’ skin—one he hadn’t asked for.

He shook his head indulgently. “I’ve been around too many centuries—what has changed between you two? Were there other _parabatai_ effects of the rune you are not telling me of?”

“It’s personal,” Emma hedged. How was she supposed to say _Julian tried to knock me up without telling me because he was afraid of my secret death wish?_

“All things are,” Magnus agreed, smiling benignly. “And Emma, you do need to work on not shouting your thoughts out loud.”

She groaned. Magnus patted her arm in a fatherly gesture and said, “Someday remind me to tell you of the early days of me and Alec and the folly of youth.”

“There was something that happened when we first arrived at the blighted area,” Julian said changing the subject. “But it was before any of the mega-runes,” he confessed. Emma pinned him with accusing stare.

“Go on,” Magnus urged.

Julian explained his vision of the wraith-like apparition. “I think it was a demon, but no one else saw it. It disappeared before Emma found me. It could have been real, but it could have been a hallucination, and that worries me.” Julian described the vision in detail and explained his conversation with the phantom—the prediction of a massive demon invasion. “I thought he was in my imagination, but he said something strange. He said, “ _Tell my son, I look forward to bringing my world here_. Does that mean anything to you, make any sense to you?” He pinned Magnus with a directly challenging stare. “Or have the hallucinations begun?”

Magnus’ reaction was not encouraging. He had that resigned look again. He didn’t look sick anymore, at least not from any type of physical ailment—this was more of a weight on his soul.

“All this has centered on the Black Volume, Julian, and the magic within. When you showed me the pages, I recognized the language. As the Gray book was written in the language of Angels and could only have been written by one of their kind, I believe that Black Volume was written by a demon.”

Julian perked up at that. It wasn’t the answer he was expecting. “Does that help us at all?”

“I think my father is the one who wrote the Black Volume—and I fear when Malcolm used its magic, it allowed him a foothold into this world,” Magnus said.

“Your father?” Of course all warlocks had a demon parent, but Julian didn’t know much of Magnus’ parentage. One didn’t go up to a warlock and ask: _Who is your demon parent?_ It lacked a certain amount of tact. He couldn’t even imagine what kind of Daddy issues Magnus might have.

“It is a closely held secret, one only a few know.” Magnus said reluctantly, but coming to a decision. “Asmodeus.”

Emma and Julian stared at him in open shock. Asmodeus was a Greater Demon, the likes of Lilith—extremely dangerous, and powerful enough that he ruled over entire worlds.

“Uh, does Alec know?” Emma asked hesitantly.

His stare unnerved her. “Yes,” he said succinctly, and changed topic. “And I fear those demons from that circle, they were the first of his army. The _Asmodei_. In Edom, they surpassed and defeated the Nephilim there—turned the entire planet into an ashen wasteland. Is there anything else he said?” Magnus asked irritably. Magnus in good health looked ageless, but now there was a sense of life worn too long, tipping the scale from agelessness to ancientness.

Julian looked at him guardedly. “No,” he said. Both Emma and Magnus knew he was lying. She was surprised a Pinocchio nose hadn’t started growing.

“And he promised you help with the curse?” Magnus asked angrily confronting Julian. “Did he promise you a way to stay with Emma? His promises are worse than that of the Seelie Queen. Do you think by sacrificing your soul, or this world, that you will find any kind of joy or happiness?” Magnus probed.

“He wouldn’t do that!” Emma said fiercely.

“No, I wouldn’t,” Julian agreed. “I would never trust a demon to help. Maybe that was the one good lesson I learned from Uncle Arthur—from studying Faerie natures because of Mark. I know there is no easy solution and their prices are too high to pay.”

Julian looked levelly at Magnus. “There is darkness in all of us. Believe me when I say I have my fair share of it, and the idea is tempting—this belief that I can somehow trick them as they would me, and I could walk away free.” He was angry now, too. “But I have Emma, I have my family. I don’t know how I would have turned out without them, but I know that if I make that deal with the proverbial devil that I wouldn’t be worthy of their love—and that means more to me.”

Magnus stare was considering. “That is quite a sane thing to say. To be honest with the level of power you have wielded today alone I would think that you would have already become so dangerous as to wipe half of California off the map.”

“Wait till you hear what he wants to do next,” Emma said, a rare nervousness creeping into her voice.     

Julian went on to explain the details of his next creative plan, the reason and need for Magnus to play therapist, peacemaker, counselor and judge. “Emma doesn’t want to do it because of the threat of the curse, but why would the angels give Clary that rune meant for us, if we’re not supposed to use this power? If we were on the verge of madness, why would they trust us with that kind of power?”

“Yes, why indeed?” Magnus looked like he was thinking very hard. “It is an interesting idea, that you are proposing” he said warming up to the idea. “Theoretically possible. To be _parabatai,_ as you are, is in itself an act of transcendence. Truthfully, I have no idea the full extent of what your capable of.”             

“Emma,” Julian coaxed, taking her hand in his, placing it over his heart. “Yes, things could wrong. I know this is a risk. But if Magnus is right and Asmodeus and his army are encroaching, the New York Institute may not be safe. The world may not be safe, but we make _this_ place safe. This place might be our last stand, and not just for the Blackthorns. If we do this right, it may be the last refuge for the Nephilim if the Earth’s wards fail. It may be the last thing that we can build together with our united strength before the Unseelie King figures out all that’s in the book and rips away the _parabatai_ bonds from the Shadowhunters.”

“It is hard for me to think outside the family,” he said, admitting how he was flawed sometimes. “They’ve been my center for such a long time—but there are a lot of other families out there at risk too. Alec and Magnus and their kids, a werewolf pack, mundane families. Livvy told me before we left for Idris,” her name was sticky taffy getting caught in his throat and she wondered if he’d ever get to the point where he didn’t choke on it. “She said she wanted to be like me, to help people,” he said. “I’ve been so busy trying to survive, I don’t feel like I’ve been much of a help to anyone—but I don’t want her to be disappointed in me.”

“Julian, she loved you. I don’t think she’d ever be disappointed in you,” Emma said knowing how hard it was for him to say these things.

“She’d expect me to keep the others safe, to keep this Institute,” he said the weight of the expectations of another ghost weighing him down. Livvy wasn’t here anymore, but the Institute was still her home.

“I know,” she told him squeezing his hand, interlacing her fingers with his.  Her heart melted.

She slowly nodded her wary agreement. “Okay, then let’s do it.”

~~~

Tavvy was looking up at Mark and Helen with his huge eyes. “Mrs. Kent said they had to be in crates when they travelled, so they’d be safe.”

Helen watched in amusement at Mark’s increasing agitation as he tried to work through this problem of attaching dog crates to Gwyn’s wild horses. Gwyn was also watching Mark expectantly, his worn face creaked in a rare smile. Kit wished he had the ability to write a ballad because this was priceless. 

“This is good practice for him,” Dru confided to Kit. “When Julian and Emma have kids, Mark will need to figure out a car seat too.”

All Blackthorn eyes turned to Dru. “What?”

It was Gwyn wanting to move things along who finally harnessed a couple makeshift slings. One for Ty so he could keep his puppy warm and near his chest through the flight. Another was for Mark. Tavvy wanted to go with Mark, and Kit suspected after what Dru had said that Mark was secretly practicing for the occasion to fly with future nieces and nephews. 

Helen bundled Tavvy up in layers of shearling, leather and fur until he squirmed, cheeks turning bright pink from the heat. He couldn’t wear runes to keep him warm, and flying that high was viciously cold. He was wrapped up in enough layers that he looked like an abominable baby bear.

Kieran and Mark shared a long look together in that secret communication way of lovers. “I would be so honored if you would allow me to escort you on Windspear for our journey back to your lands,” Kieran said to Cristina with all the gallantry of his faerie princeness.

So, Kieran wanted an afternoon of Cristina stuck to his body—so that’s the way things were going to go. Shae gave him a foolish grin and almost giggled as she accepted his proffered hand.

Maybe it was Gwyn who was uncomfortable in his own right who decided to intervene—he wanted to leave. “Kieran take Cristina. Mark and Tavvy. Ty and Kit. Diana with me,” he said in the authoritarian way of a leader. Kit thought Diana might bristle his resolute forcefulness, but she merely nodded as if she approved of his wisdom.

Love was weird, and it seemed as if catching feelings was becoming contagious. Kit suspected his own health was being compromised too. Ty allowed him to make his runes, and Kit vowed to accelerate his education in that department ASAP. It wouldn’t do to need to give one to Ty or one of the other Blackthorns and not know how to do it. Diana seemed pleased in his interest.

“I’d like to go with Dru,” Helen chirped in. It would leave Aline without a partner, but that was okay—until Tavvy did the math.

“Livvy! We’re missing Livvy,” he screeched lips wobbling the same way Dru’s had at the funeral. 

Ty stiffened beneath him, hard as a statue. Mark looked like he’d just been struck by a thunderbolt. They all did. They all looked around as if searching for Julian to fix this, not that he could—and as if realizing that he and Emma weren’t there either, the entire mood of the group shifted.

“Kit thinks she’s an angel now. Our guardian angel,” Dru told Tavvy.

_Whoa, how’d he’d get dragged into this_? Every Blackthorn turned to him in expectation except Ty who was still frozen in place looking at some place far off place in the distance. He hadn’t put his new headphones on yet, and Kit had been a bit jealous of him listening to music as they rode. What would he listen too—something like _Ride of the Valkyries_?

“Angels have wings and they fly. So even though we can’t see her, I think she’s still with us,” Kit said doing his best to comfort Tavvy. Did he sound believable? _Did he believe it?_

Tavvy chewed on this, pink cheeks peeking out of his burritoed parka.

“Kit kissed Livvy,” Ty announced.

_What?_ Where the hell did that statement come from? He didn’t even know that Ty knew about that—but of course they were twins, so maybe with their twinese connection he didn’t need to be told.

Every eye turned to him in stupefaction. Dru’s mouth was hanging open.

“Why didn’t I know this?” she asked coming up to punch him on the arm. “Why do I not know any of this?”

Livvy would have said: _because you never come out of your room_. Even Kit knew that, but he couldn’t say those words to Dru. He couldn’t channel the dead, (only ghosts apparently), and he didn’t want the responsibility. They would each need to find Livvy’s voice within them.

Helen looked faintly amused and turned to Aline. “ _This_ is why I like living in a big family.”

Easy for her to say, she wasn’t the one getting thrown under the proverbial wild horses. He didn’t know why Ty said what he did, but it was weird because they were all looking at him like he’d magically earned instant credibility. Kit wanted to clear the air and say it wasn’t like that, but he’d wasted too much time thinking on a quick comeback and their caravan of galloping air horses took to the skies.

He thought of Pegasus and decided if he was ever lucky enough to get his own faerie steed that’s what he’d name it. Winged feathers coasting on the sky.

_Livia Blackthorn, don’t you dare make a liar out of me._

~~~

“I sort of know what you want to do. You’re an artist, and today the Institute is your canvas. You’re going to do something amazing aren’t you?” Emma asked. They stood outside in front of the Institute doors.

He was humbled by her faith in him. He came up behind her so she fitted against his chest. He wrapped one arm around her waist, caging her in, keeping her body close to his heart. The summer ocean air changed her entire scent so she was a blooming burst of sage and sun to his senses. He rested his cheek on her blond hair relishing how silken it felt.

He stood with her like that giving himself a few moments of precious calm, knowing the world was right because they were together. He could center himself, focus in a way he didn’t think he’d ever be capable of doing without her.

His breathing slowed as a ripple of comfort and strength flowed through him. The stele in his hand became more than a paintbrush as Emma enfolder her hand over his. With it they had the power to carve out a sanctuary of safety. 

Her mind grew fuzzy as wealth of her favorite memories reeled through her mind like an old-fashioned film stip. Joy and family. She looked over and saw her parents dropping her younger self at the Institute and felt an absurd urge to wave to the memory. She heard the light scratching on stone as Julian etched the first inscription of a rune on the outer door.

He took his time as he layered one rune upon another, arranging a pattern of interlocking designs that engraved themselves into the stone itself with flashes of bright light. It reminded her of when Julian had practiced drawing Mandalas for a while, hoping to entice Ty into an interest in art and painting. He thought that by using the metaphors of the cosmos in the geometric patterns he’d find common ground with Ty. It hadn’t worked, and was an act of frustration, but it was the attempt that mattered—how Julian loved Tiberius and would forever search out new ways of connecting with his brother. That memory of love was wrapped up into its own package and whisked away into the stone, along with a thousand subtler comforts and wonders she shared with him over the years.

Emma could feel not just the memories of the past, but all of Julian’s dreams of the future funnel themselves into the runes.

Angelic Enkeli runes woven with the Elemental Shield runes of Air, Wind, Water, Fire, Dust, Earth, Heart, Mind and Time. There were the traditional protections of Shelter, Fireproof and Psychic Trespassing. Then Abundance laced with Fortitudes, and next came dozens of the Virtues Runes--Perseverance, Kindness, Love, Nobility, Holiness—it became a whirling and dizzying array. 

White and golden phosphorescent lightning crackled to keep up, as he folded and overlapped, twisted together rune after rune.

Runes for their family, Ever Finding Home, Family Sanctuary, Joyous and Comfort, Quietude and Strength.

This wasn’t a simple protection spell or ward.

Emma had turn her eyes away from the brightness as the light sank into the outer stone of the building. The stone lit from within, marched up and over the roof, and down into the very earth. The entire Institute shimmered and wavered white like witchlight until it finally hardened to the clear crystal stone of adamas.           

~~~

He hadn’t planned on the stone doing that. _That_ gave him pause. His stele had turned red hot and like a pencil using the last of its lead, he dropped the burning nub from his fingers. He felt the fiery burn in his fingertips, but when he looked down they remained unmarked. Emma rubbed the pads of his fingers, kissing them gently with a delicately intimate gesture. She was warm and alive and real in his arms. She’d kept him centered and focused enough that the power hadn’t wrested control away from him. It was awesome to keep that control—like fighting rip current trying to pull him under.

Those lessons of the sea had taught him what to do. He hadn’t fought the power, but moved with it, ran parallel to it, never loosing site of his goal. Still a boundless energy thrummed and pulsed in cadence with his heartbeat. He felt the same crackle of lightning through his veins in his bones, that had worked through stone. That power _wanted_ to be used.

Emma handed him another stele. He wasn’t done yet. There were more.

They walked hand in hand well past the outer parking lot near to where Magnus stood. If he did it just right, he hoped to use a bit of Magnus warlock power as an enhancement. He placed another of the Earth healing runes on the ground, creation and bridge runes—and with all his burning energy pushed out—focusing intent and resolve, as power lashed through him. He became a conduit for something else. 

And felt the world rip apart.

He was exhausted as the power finally fizzled. He had a moment of panic that he wouldn’t be strong enough for the last rune, but Emma was still with him and if he faltered she would buffer him. He had enough stele to make one last rune.

The last thing he saw before he lost consciousness was the Institute waver and disappear from view.


	19. Family Secrets

Emma on her hands and knees, had crawled as far away from Julian as she could get. She felt dizzy and sick. He was alive, but she wouldn’t go over to touch him again—maybe not ever again. Magnus helped her to sit up. She felt like she had no breath in her, that light and fire and burned through her body—maybe she hadn’t survived after all, and was now a ghost set to protect this Institute, like Jessamine.

No, she hurt too much to be a ghost.

She glanced at Magnus’ forearm, with his sleeves pushed back she could see that the Alliance rune had burned away. She still wasn’t sure what they had done, managed to accomplish, and she was a bit terrified to find out.

For years she’d been terrified of the ocean, dreamt of standing alone on a beach while a massive tsunami pulled the entire ocean to a single swell to swallow her whole. Julian’s ambitiousness had managed to summon that infinite pull of power—and they were idiots if they thought they could control something of that magnitude. Only, somehow Julian had. She suspected it was only because they were tied to Magnus’ warlock magic that they were even still alive, because what Julian had just done _should have killed them_. “Did you feel that, Magnus?”

“It’s possible you hit your head when you collapsed, because unless one is a null mundane on the other side of the world, there is no way one would _NOT FEEL THAT!”_

He sounded grouchy. He was also incredibly pale—not in a warlock sickness way, but in a _I’ve just stared into the eyes of God and lived to tell the story,_ kind of way.

Emma kept her breathing even and deep until she could feel her fingers and toes again. Julian still wasn’t moving, but their bond was a tangible thing in her mind, a golden rope connecting them. She knew he wasn’t hurt, just needed to recover. She’d bet he’d feel like he’d spent the night on the town with Mark playing the _End of the World_ drinking game partaking in all manner of warlock, faerie and mundane concoctions. Her hangover felt at least that bad.

“I know a warlock who once accessed unimaginable powers,” Magnus said with a faraway look in his eyes. “It was something she vowed never to do again, not only because it would kill her, but she didn’t trust her control— _because power of that kind simply cannot be controlled._ It has made me to start wonder if the curse stems from the fact that you are still mortal, but are accessing powers reserved for Angels, Demons and Gods.”

He rubbed his hands with over his face, and pulled out his phone to text Alec: _All’s good_. There was no undelivered message, so he thought mundane technology might work through the newly built wards here too. Interesting.

“Do not kid yourself that you are in the same league as angels,” Magnus said, deeply troubled. “You will eventually lose control of it. It now becomes a game of Russian roulette as to which time will be the one you think you can bend that power to your will, and instead find that it slips away from you. You created something here today, the other side of the coin is to destroy everything around you.”

“No,” she agreed. “Even if it means our lives, we can’t ever do this again.”

“Still—“ Magnus started to say something, but Julian rolled over and groaned. Between the three of them, they managed to get him to his feet.

“Everyone okay?” he asked voice raspy like he was waking up from a hundred-year sleep.

“You could say that,” Magnus confirmed, and stepped away so they could see what lay beyond him.

Julian glanced at the vista before him, and Emma heard him gasp. She didn’t quite understand what she was seeing herself. “What happened?” he asked in disbelief. “Did we do that?”

Their back yard had always been the ocean. They still had a view, but what was once a vast open horizon of blue waves had turned into more of a cove. Jutting out as far as the eye could see was a green and hilly plain, a gentle mountain range peeking its head in the far distance. Everything to their northwest, was a virgin expanse of fresh earth. To the southwest new islands had sprouted, dotting the landscape haphazardly.

“Given the causality of effect and timing, _yes, you did that!_ ” Magnus said in utter exasperation. “Although I do not how far out your glamour and protection runes have extended. It might be that we are in a pocket universe within the mundane world.”

Julian’s head snapped to Magnus. “So, it worked. I studied Sebastian. And Clary told Emma he had a house in a pocket universe, that he travelled the world using it—that he could open the door to a new city at any time he wanted to, and that’s why he couldn’t be traced. And the Silent Brothers use their nexuses in the Silent City to travel the world too. Can this place do that?”

“I think it is safe to say we have no idea what this place can do, or even how big it is. That’s not a good thing Julian—that is a dangerous thing. Do you understand that?” Magnus asked.

He nodded. “This wasn’t my intention.”

“Runes of protection were more than your intention. What were you thinking?” Magnus asked confounded.

“I was thinking,” Julian said, his voice growing in anxiety, “that I needed a world safe for my family.”

Magnus looked momentarily bewildered. “Well, it looks like you have made a world. And a very impressive one at that.”

Emma’s mouth hung open, “We couldn’t have done that, Magnus. Maybe it’s just an illusion.”

“It’s not—unless you can make illusions real,” Magnus said looking at Julian with a new scrutiny. Emma felt goosebumps skittered up her spine.

Magnus was thinking a little too hard though, his index finger tapping his lower lip as he stared out at the birth of this new land. “I’ve been speaking with Jem quite a bit about your situation,” he explained. “There are a lot of inconsistencies with the Clave’s history. How was a mundane man able to summon an angel with the strength and power of Raziel, much less be gifted the Mortal Instruments? And the Grey book, and adamas, and an entire homeland? Why would an angel trust an inexperienced mundane to be able to protect items so precious?”

“What are you saying?” Julian asked.

“A mundane couldn’t have summoned an angel. A warlock, or possibly some other Downworlder, yes, but not a mundane. I’d be willing to bet dear old Jonathan was a warlock, and if he was warlock that drank from the Mortal cup, it means he was both Shadowhunter and warlock. Believe me when I say what an unpredictable and rare combination that is. Jem agrees, and he has access to the Silent Brothers in a way none of us do.”

“Oh, that’s rich. I would love that to be true, for the Cohort to choke on their elitism and have to admit it was a warlock that was their founder,” Julian said with a certain edge of cheerfulness.

“Jonathan Shadowhunter was also the first _parabatai_ with David, and is it mere coincidence that David was the founder of the Silent Brothers?” Magnus asked.

“Oh my god, what are you saying?” Emma asked shocked. “That Jonathan and David had a thing for each other?”

“The _parabatai_ oath is a combination spell of Jonathan’s warlock magic and Shadowhunter angelic runes: a combination of both dark and light magic. They were the first _parabatai_ , and I think they were the ones who built Idris much in the way you just built this place. Warlocks, since they are born of demonic parentage, has an alliance to dark magic. That is not to say it can’t be used for good,” he added hastily.

“And they went mad too?” Emma said sadly.

“Shadowhunters have only existed this last millennium. There are creatures far older in this world, Fae included. There are no tales of Jonathan and David succumbing to the curse.”

“Then why did David found the Silent Brothers?” Julian asked.

“I ask myself a different question. I ask myself why Jonathan and David weren’t affected by the curse, but other _parabatai_ were? What made them different?”

“Because he was a warlock?” Emma answered still confused.

Julian was slowly nodding. “He had an alliance of both magics. Are you saying it’s possible then that the _parabatai_ who went mad—perhaps did so because the greater in strength they became, the greater the darker magic within them did too. That is the curse? The dark magic, when it becomes strong enough, twists the natural angelic magic of Shadowhunters?” He turned to Emma. “That’s what Jem told you, wasn’t it, that it warped the bond?”

“Just so.” Magnus agreed. “Since they were _parabatai_ , Jonathan’s dual magic extended to David through the bond. But while they remained shall we say, immune, the other _parabatai_ deteriorated. Keep in mind, to be lucky enough to find that kind of communion between two people is an incredibly rare thing—there were never that many affected by it, who reached that level of potential. But you felt the power of the magic here, you know how dangerous it can be in the wrong hands. In mad hands. Creating the Brotherhood, the Iron Sisters were the only way to save them.”

Julian was so angry he wanted to throw something. “If that is the truth then there is no true curse, there is no other answer than to cut the bond?” he said in complete frustration.

Magnus Alliance rune had faded from his skin. It had burned off with this latest round of magic. “If we do another Alliance rune then, we’ll be protected then, because we’ll share both magics—Is that it, the solution?” Emma asked, so full of hope.

“Not for you,” Magnus said. “But, maybe for the Silent Brothers and Iron Sisters who are affected. If we can pair them with a willing warlock, it might be possible for the magic to settle between them as a triumvirate. To think of the logistics boggles my mind, but they’ve searched for years for an answer.”

“Why not us?” Emma asked, her voice small. “If you wouldn’t be willing, could there be another warlock who would be willing to partner with us?”

Julian’s hand settled on her shoulder, rubbing tender reassurances. “We still have other options, Em.” She gave him a hard look. She didn’t like any of Julian’s ideas or _other_ options.

“I don’t believe it is necessary for you, because I think you are immune as well,” Magnus admitted. “With all that you have done it would be impossible for the curse to not be affecting you in some way, and I’ve seen no sign of that.”

Julian jerked up. “How can that be? Why would we be immune?”

Magnus reached out and cut the worn leather binding on the seaglass bracelet from Julian’s wrist. Emma gasped as it fell to the ground. She had made that for Julian years ago—he never took it off. It was as much a part of him as their bond. “It was decided to bind your memories, of things that had gone wrong in the past, until you were ready to learn the full truth of your heritage, Julian Blackthorn—but as you have said the time for secrets and lies are over. Remember who you are.”

With the snap of the broken magic on his wrist, Julian fell back into hell.

~~~

                Underwater.

                His heart stuttered in fear.

                Emma was underwater. She was drowning.

No, those were her nightmares, she’d had for years—because of how her parents died.

But they weren’t nightmares because of her parents. They were her nightmares because she had drowned.

~~~

To become _parabatai_ they had to go through a series of tests given to the them by the Silent Brothers. They had gone to the Silent City for their last one before their official ceremony. They hadn’t thought it was going to be a big deal, just another formality in the process. Julian could have request a Silent Brother to administer the final test at the Institute, but he was more worried about Brother Enoch discovering Arthur’s condition than he was of venturing into the City of Bones.

He hadn’t realized that colors had smells—that parchment smelled of bones, and the dead of dust. The whole atmosphere was one of foreboding. Maybe it was because the ashes of his family and ancestors were here. His father wasn’t here though. He’d been buried at the Crossroads because he’d been turned Endarkened. He wondered if that meant his soul ended up someplace different than everyone else, but he knew better than to ask the Silent Brothers those kinds of questions.

Emma had brought Cortana because she never went anywhere without it, but also because she was convinced it was going to be a combat trial, so they could be judged to see how well they worked together as a team.

Julian hadn’t liked the idea—of anyone having the power to judge whether or not he and Emma were suited to each other. Of course they were—they’d lived too much of their lives together not to be. But there was this deep fear that the Brothers held the ultimate power, and could say no to them being _parabatai_ together. He couldn’t stand the thought of Emma going away, and the only way he knew she would never leave was to become _parabatai_ with her, even as he sometimes hoped the Brothers would say no.

He needed her more than anything. He just didn’t think he could keep up with all the charades in his life if he didn’t have her, the one essential thing in his life, that everything else rotated around. She was his sun, and as long as there was her light to navigate by, he could do everything else that needed to be done. He could live forever fighting the continuous and unrelenting battle to wrestle the chaos of his life into some kind of tenuous order—just to keep the Clave away.

He had to be very careful of his thoughts here, in this tombed city. He bet the ghosts could hear his thoughts, as well as the Silent Brothers.

Emma had been right. They’d been shown to a training room. It was odd to think of the Silent Brothers training here. “Do you think they train in their robes? I don’t see how they wouldn’t trip—but I just can’t see them going au natural,” Emma quipped.

“Ugh, they might hear you,” Julian whispered. “Besides now that you’ve said it, I can’t unsee in my head. When they walk through the door that’s going to be the visual they’re reading from my mind,” he gave her a gentle shove of annoyance.

She burst out laughing, and the sun was bright underground.

They’d practiced and warmed up together until they were left alone long enough to think that maybe the Silent Brothers had forgotten about them. They hadn’t been allowed to bring anything with them, with the exception of Cortana, and had missed lunch. They could wait on food, but had been offered water when they first arrived. They were grateful for it even as Julian wondered that it looked like a bowl of holy water sitting out in a church.

Immediately, he’d felt dizzy and sick as Emma had jerked his shoulder trying to keep him awake, but by the look on her face she was scared. But, that didn’t make any sense. By then it was too late—he’d lost consciousness.

Julian had woken up in his bedroom, opening his eyes to see the mural he’d painted on the wall of the castle surrounded by thorns. Emma was Carstairs, the family emblem a castle, while his was of thorns—deadly and dangerous, he watched as the hedge of blackthorn surrounding the castle grew taller, inching up the wall to wreath the castle in protection. Protecting his heart. There were places the thorns punctured and blood dripped from the walls onto the castle and he shivered. Something was horribly wrong.

_Emma!_

He rushed to the nearest window that had a view of the ocean. Emma was standing alone on the beach, facing off as a giant tsunami swallowed all the ocean in an entire wave and barreled down on her.

He screamed her name, but she was too far away to hear him. Because of how her parents died the ocean had become her worst fear. It was the nightmares she woke up from sweating and shaking in the dead of night. And now it was real, and he was helpless to stop it.

Time stretched and slowed. He shouted to her again, desperate for her to hear, but he _knew_ the only thing in her mind would be her fear. She just stared frozen at her oncoming death. She was good with Cortana, slashing and slaying, but this was a fight she couldn’t win with her sword.

In slow motion the wave towered over her, towered over the city in the background behind her—when it hit, it would wipe out half of California. The Institute wouldn’t be left standing either. The kids were here too, with Diana.

_No!_ He would not let everything be taken from him. Something in his consciousness snapped. It knocked him to the ground as his mind ripped open. He managed to pull himself up and stare at the malignant wave, hovering as it hung from the moonlight. He flung his own will against the wall of water in a wildly savage ferociousness that appalled him. The wall of water wavered in front of him, and shattered before him, before dissolving into mist.

The last thing Julian saw was Emma still standing alone on the beach. She was as still as one of those Greek statues Medusa had frozen into stone.

Julian came out of the dream quickly after that. When he woke Jem was there, and Magnus. “Emma,” he croaked. His voice was damaged from his shouting earlier. He was trying to work out what was real and what wasn’t. Was he still dreaming? Where was Emma?

He was in some sort of infirmary. “You’re at the Basileas,” Jem said gently, trying to be reassuring. “There was an incident with the Trial of Water. You were both brought here to recover.”

“What are you talking about?” he asked. Emma was lying on a cot a few feet away. Julian went to her, but Magnus kept him from touching her. Her eyes were closed. She looked like sleeping beauty. But he’d seen her nightmare and knew she wasn’t in any type of peaceful place. “Wake her up,” he demanded through a clenched jaw. She was too still, and looked terribly small and vulnerable under the blankets. She was burning up with fever, he could feel how warm she was even at a distance.

“Please, sit, Julian. We’re trying to help her, to figure out what is going on,” Jem began explaining, his cultured British accent pitched low to be soothing. “ _Parabatai_ are given a trial by water as one of their tests. It is a test kept secret from the candidates. You are given water from Lake Lyn—“

“Lake Lyn is poisoned and cursed,” he said turning furious eyes on Jem. “You gave that to us?”

“It is part of the ritual that every _parabatai_ undertakes, Julian. The tests are not meant to be easy, just as there are times being a _parabatai_ is not easy. The water from Lake Lyn brings down the barriers of the mind,” Jem said with a calmness in his voice that did not match up with the worry in his eyes or the deep crease of concern in his forehead. 

“Brings down the barriers of the mind,” Julian hissed in incredulity. “Do you have any idea how absolutely terrified she is of the ocean, and you ripped away what little protection she had!”

Magnus and Jem exchanged a long look. “It was not meant to be like that, Julian,” Jem said sadly, ancient eyes filled with regret. “Every person hides pieces of themselves from others. The ritual is meant to bring down your barriers so your true selves are exposed and revealed to each other—to give you a place where neither of you can hide from the other. To know that, and still chose to tie yourself with a person is the intent of the ritual.”

Julian looked at him disgusted. “I already know Emma. Why isn’t she waking up?” Julian said. _Please, tell me she’s not still there_. But, he had the worst gut feeling that she had been left alone on that beach, her mind frozen in catatonia as the ocean prepared to swallow her. His hand reached out to brush Emma’s sweaty hair away from her forehead, but Magnus gripped his wrist hard preventing him from touching her.

“What do you remember?” Magnus asked.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said defiantly. He felt that subtle snap of his mind again and fought down the incredible urge to fling Magnus out into open space in the same way he’d flung back the ocean in the vision. He was so incredibly angry.

“Yes, Julian, it does. It may help us, help her,” Jem said trying to keep the calm.

After what had just happened, he didn’t like them, and he certainly didn’t trust them. But Emma was more important, so he told them what he remembered.

He’d been told the Silent Brothers had been observing them the entire time. When it looked like Emma was declining into danger, Brother Enoch had come to give aid. He said Emma had stopped breathing, her lungs seizing in a way that it almost seemed as if she were drowning. The restorative cures had been given, but to no effect and the runes they’d applied had kept Emma alive, but they would not work indefinitely if her mind was too broken to recover into consciousness.

“Give me another dose of water from Lake Lyn,” Julian had said. “Can you help me go back into her dream, Magnus. When I find her, I can bring her out.”

Magnus looked at him aghast. “You will more than likely die—it is too dangerous.” Again, Magnus gave that strange look to Jem as he shook his head in negation.

“She is my _parabatai_. I will not leave her behind,” his kept his voice very low, and very calm, but if he had to tear down the walls of the Basileas to make his point, they would listen. 

Magnus and Jem had left him behind with Emma while they argued in the hallway. He’d heard Jem say, “Magnus, they are _parabatai_ —he can’t do any less,” although Magnus did not approve of this turn of events. He’d heard faraway words, but couldn’t focus on their conversation. All he could do was look at Emma’s face, and give her his solemn promise he would help her—that he wouldn’t leave her.

They’d finally been taken back to the Silent City. Jem let Julian carry Emma, wrapped up like a mummy in blankets. She was feverish, but she shivered in his arms, like she was icy cold. When they’d arrived, it looked like every Silent Brother had been summoned, well over 20 of them ringing them in a protective circle. Tessa was there standing beside Jem giving him a small smile of encouragement, and a blue woman stood by Magnus. Another warlock?

This seemed odd to Julian, but he didn’t care so long as they helped him save her life. He greedily drank the small dose of the tainted water they allowed him, and immediately fell back into a crippling lethargy.

When he woke next he was underwater.

Emma was asleep under the water, caught in the dream. Her eyes were closed and her hair flowed out around her, an angel’s halo. He gripped her shoulders, trying to jerk her awake, but she was too far gone. He pulled her to the surface, and in a lifeguard’s rescue swam her back to shore.

He grabbed for his stele, but it must have floated away. He performed the CPR he knew (a requirement for anyone to know who lived on a beach), and she still didn’t wake. She wasn’t dead though. She couldn’t be dead. “Emma, I’m not ever going to let you go, so you have to find a way back to me. Can you hear me. Please, squeeze my hand, blink your eyes—please give me some sign you’re still there.”

Still nothing.

He pulled her onto his lap and stroked her plastered hair out of her eyes, a growing fear ballooning inside him. In a faraway voice Julian heard Magnus say urgently worried, “You need to come back _now_ , Julian—if you stay, you’ll both die.” He ignored it.

_So be it_ , he thought. He said with as much resolve as he could muster: “If you leave, Emma, I’ll go with you. I’ll always go with you, but please don’t make me. My family needs me. Tiberius and Livia. Dru and Tavvy. Don’t make me leave them. _They need you too. I need you_.”

He looked down at her. She was so pretty. It was always a thought he never allowed himself to have. She’d always been his heart, he’d always love her.

And he did the one thing he promised he’d never, _ever_ do. He bent down and kissed her. Her lips were petal soft and warm, glistening from the sea. He tasted salt and Emma. He always imagined how she would taste, but it was better than that.

Kissing her was wrong.

In old religions the kiss was saved for the day of marriage between two people. Upon their binding vows, to touch lips, share breath—it was an exchange of spirit, to seal their promises together.

He breathed his spirit into her, and nibbled on her lower lip.

He couldn’t want her like this—and be her _parabatai_. He wanted her too much. He wanted to be with her forever, but he also wanted so much more than he could ever have with her just being his _parabatai_. He wanted to fall asleep with her every night in his arms, have her wake up with him every morning. Someday he wanted to have children, and when he did, he wanted her to be their mother. He could see an entire life of _them_ unfolding before his eyes.

And here, he needed to make the decision.

If they chose to become _parabatai_ , he could never have that life. He brushed the matted wet hair, crusted with the salt of the sea away from her face. He kissed her again, not holding back those wants and desires he damned away from her every day.

And she rose up to meet him, kissing his tentatively at first, but then waking up to his demands. She met him just as fiercely. “Julian,” she whispered between hasty gasps. She clung to him—her lifeline, strong fingers gripping his shirt, pulling him close.

And he knew then, he couldn’t ever be her _parabatai_.

He could barely catch his breath. The pounding in his head matched his heartbeat. Even his eyes felt too swollen to open. But, he managed.

He was on the ground, his hand reached out for Emma’s, and Emma’s hand was in his. She squeezed back. She was alive. He’d brought her back.

~~~

Julian wasn’t sure his head was finished splitting open. He blinked trying to focus. He saw Magnus, and Jem and Tessa were standing there next to him, too. Where the hell had they come from?  “Emma!” He sucked in a breath and went to her. She was on her hands and knees, eyes squeezed tight against her own nightmare.

He stroked her back, and felt the healed scars of her whipping beneath her t-shirt. When she was strong enough she practically jumped into his arms.

Magnus had erased all of his memories of that. Why? _Why would he do that?_ “You took our memories,” he hissed through numb lips. It was the most important decision he’d ever had to make, and if he’d remembered those last few moments, _everything_ in their life would be different now.

His mind to reordered itself, reshuffled a strange mix of memories into what he knew of his past. Jem and Tessa. Magnus must have called them. Seeing them brought another memory hurtling toward him.

He had a memory of them at Blackfriar’s Bridge. Of their wedding. Emma had been wearing a pale blue vintage dress, her golden hair let down for a rare occasion. It had been odd seeing her as such a girl—she never really had occasions to dress up like that. Emma had been so happy, and he knew she was picturing what her own wedding might be like someday. He wanted so badly to draw her—all of them dressed up for a family picture.

Ty had fought with the tightness of his collar that day. Julian had feared a meltdown, but Livvy—Oh, dear god, Livvy! There was a new memory of her that hadn’t been there before. Another flower crown becoming a tradition at family weddings, and a pink gossamer dress with puffed sleeves. He remembered her pointing out the new sites of London to Ty and the two comparing how different it was to L.A.—how she’d never left his side. She’d been so excited that day with sparkling eyes and a bright smile. And Tavvy kept wandering off talking to thin air. Julian had been a mess of nerves that day—it was so important for all of them to look like a happy well-adjusted family, so not to arouse Jem or Tessa’s suspicions.

And they had all been there—all of them, even Jace and Clary…because…Tessa had wanted her family there. And somehow they were part of Tessa’s family. But that didn’t make sense either. None of this made any sense.

Whatever Magnus had done, it had not been gentle. His head was pounding to his heartbeat, blood rushing through his ears, muffling sound around him so it felt like he was underwater.

First things first. “What happened at the _parabatai_ ceremony, Magnus?” Julian asked. He hadn’t remembered any of it until now, and he had a feeling something more happened that day.

“It is hard for the mind to process everything at once,” Magnus said. “It may take a few days for everything to come back, or like normal memories we don’t live with every one all at the same time—but recall comes when something reminds you.”

“What happened?” Julian said again, through gritted teeth. Emma had pulled out of his arms and she was staring daggers at the three of them. He’d really like to know what new memories were rattling around in her mind, too.

“I suppose for you to understand, we have to start at the beginning,” Tessa said. “We had hoped for you to be older, but I suspect you’ve been an adult much longer than any of us thought.”

Julian nodded to her in acknowledgement. “Go on. I’m sick to death of the lies—and Magnus, I hadn’t expected this from you,” he said in disappointment.

“Do not blame him,” Tessa said in a firm voice. “He was called in to help, to give you and Emma aid, which he did.”

Julian just looked at Tessa suspiciously, but nodded for her to continue. “I’m listening.”

“My husband Will and I, we not only had our son James who was Jace’s ancestor, as you already know, but we also had a daughter, Lucie. She married Jesse Blackthorn over a hundred years ago and they were _your_ ancestors.” A wistful looked crossed her face, and a terrible sadness. Being a warlock meant she didn’t age as the rest of them did—she must have seen most of her family grow old and die in her lifetime. He shivered at thought.

“There have been many generations in between where a warlock talent has not surfaced so it was never an issue. Julian, warlock talents can be a gift, but the Clave has its own prejudices. Your family was already distrusted because of Helen and Mark’s faerie lineage—to add warlock into the mix was too much to ask of you—for your family as well. Especially when you were all so young. We decided it best to wait until you were an adult before you were saddled with all this,” Tessa explained.

Jem stood stalwart by Tessa. “It was more than Emma’s bad reaction to the waters of Lake Lyn that went wrong with the Trial of Water, Julian. Your barriers were dropped as well, and when you saw Emma was in danger it unleashed a latent warlock ability in you,” he said.

Julian thought back, trying to fit the puzzle pieces together. “What exactly happened? I remember the ceremony, but I don’t remember any strange abilities. What are you talking about?”

“Yes, well we questioned you about your visions. You said a wall of water was coming toward Emma. What did you do?” Magnus prompted.

“In the dream I flung it away from her. It shattered, and dissolved into mist. What the hell does a dream have to do with anything?”

“Well you managed to take out two entire levels of the Silent City when you did that,” Magnus said helpfully. “The Northeast sections. They were in quite a desperate need of remodeling anyway. I pointed out what a great favor you did for them.”

Emma’s mouth gaped open. “Wow, Julian. That’s completely bad ass. Wait,” she added excitedly. “So are you saying Julian is both warlock and Shadowhunter, like Jonathan—that you think we are immune from the curse because of that?”

“Just so,” Magnus nodded.

Emma turned to him, a rare glow of happiness spreading through her face. He’d been thinking he’d have to become a vampire. Warlock was a better choice, especially if he was one already—he wouldn’t need to change into something else, and he didn’t need to give up being a Shadowhunter. The rules for _parabatai_ were clear, had even given them remedies to avoid the curse. Become a Downworlder. What Magnus was suggesting was that he already _was_ one though. “How did the Clave not strip me of my marks, or even let us become _parabatai_ after that?”

“They should have. Instead, I believe the Silent Brothers thought you might be of more use to the Clave as a weapon. Next time they probably should consider what happens when that weapon decides to turn its sights on them.” Magnus seemed in a much better mood now.

“Magnus,” Tessa warned.

 “Oh, fine,” Magnus said in a flamboyant wave. “I argued you should be given the choice to become a warlock—Ragnor would have been thrilled,” he added absently. “Jem argued to do that, would mean leaving your family and _parabatai_ and that was an untenable choice. I argued that you simply could not go around untrained with the kind of abilities you were manifesting. Jem argued that you had lost so much of your childhood already, with your parents’ deaths, the Dark War, losing Helen and Mark—that this kind of training was something that could wait until you were older. So we compromised and decided on binding your powers.”              

“I don’t understand,” Emma said suddenly angry. “What do you mean by binding his powers?”

“The pieces of sea glass that I sent you, Emma,” Jem explained. “They were to help reinforce the spell.”

“What spell?” Julian asked. “What else did you do to me?”

Magnus came forward. “I lifted your memories of what happened at the ceremony, of Jem and Tessa when they came to your aid. Warlock talent arises in times of stress, often times the greater amount of stress, the greater the degree of power one can wield. It is believed that even the Ifrits who are null, have the capacity of some power. But it is something that must be triggered, usually within the ages of puberty when body and mind are on the cusp of developing into adulthood.”

Julian tried to absorb what Magnus was telling him. “How would eliminating my memories bind my power?” Julian asked exasperated.

“How so?” Magnus said as if just realizing his mistake. “At the time, I thought if you didn’t remember what you could do, you just wouldn’t do it.”

“Hmm,” Emma said thoughtfully. “How’d that work out, Magnus?”

“I also added a compulsion to the belief that you were a normal Shadowhunter.” Magnus ruminated, a finger lightly tapping his chin. “It has occurred to me that is perhaps how you’ve managed to, shall we say, keep up appearances here at the Institute.”

“You know, I’ve had moments of guilt about everything I’ve had to do to stay ahead of the Clave, but seeing as what everyone else has done to me—not so much anymore,” he said beginning to pace.

“Wait, wait!” Emma said suddenly very excited. “What about the other Blackthorns. Are they all like Julian, with a latent warlock talent?”

Julian paled. _Warlock talent arises in times of stress_. Ty.

“We’re not entirely sure,” Tessa confessed. “Catarina Loss and I have studied the genetic work that the mundanes do—DNA, epigenetics, hybrid vigor. Both my children had warlock talents in addition to being able to being able to bear runes as Shadowhunters. I’ve watched over as each generation comes to pass, wondering if something of my demonic heritage lingers within the bloodline of my descendants, or if has become so diluted as to not exist at all. You surprised us all Julian.” She didn’t sound disappointed though, in fact there was a tinge of pride in her voice.

“So, you’re my great grandmother, however many times over,” Julian asked, trying to work out what she was telling him.

“That would make you almost Jace’s cousin,” Emma said with a grin.

“Yes,” Tessa said smiling. “I’m proud of what you’ve managed to do here,” she said looking at their new Blackthorn world with an awed expression on her face. “Jem and I, we didn’t know about Arthur—we only just found out through Magnus. We were friends with Malcolm and trusted him to look out for you, to give us updates.”

“Why Malcolm, why not just come yourself? I remember going to your wedding. It was at Blackfriars Bridge. We all went—but why even have us there if you were only going to wipe our memories?” Julian wanted to ask more, but was tempering this wave of emotions from these revelations. There was almost a bitterness, an aftertaste of betrayal. He was a Blackthorn and they’d always handled their own family matters. The idea of trusting someone else outside the family to do it instead didn’t sit well with him. They’d had family—maybe someone who would have helped them, and they hadn’t even known it. Worse, they’d stolen his and Emma’s memories. He hadn’t been the only one who was creating a false life. There were dark artifices all around him, and he hadn’t been the only architect. Magnus. Jem. Tessa. They’d all been complicit.

“Tessa and I worried that if you saw us, it would trigger a recollection or a memory. That seeing us, remembering too much of us would start unraveling Magnus’ spell,” Jem said.

“It is more complicated than that, and I think you deserve to know the whole truth.” Tessa’s face grew distant and haunted. She looked like she was steeling herself against another confession and Julian stiffened bracing himself. “A generation ago Stephen Herondale, Jace’s father, joined Valentine’s Circle. It was the antithesis of everything Will and I had ever taught our children to be. Magnus had come to me, told me of Stephen’s views and of his actions. He did it to warn me of how much danger I could be in, especially if it were discovered that we were related.”

“I couldn’t just sit by and do nothing, though. So, I met with him. I had hoped I could get through to him, show him another way. I wanted him to understand that I was a person too, and not inherently evil just by being a warlock. It turned out disastrously, and not just because of the hateful things he said.” She paused as she struggled against her own demons. Julian could imagine what his face looked like when he remembered holding Livvy’s dead body in his arms, and her expression was not all that different. He could actually see a bit of Livvy in her, his sister’s steely determination.

“Less than a week later, they were all dead. Stephen was killed in a mission with Valentine, doing only God knows what, and Celine took her own life and that of her child’s. Or so we thought. For a very long time I believed it was because Stephen told her the truth about me, and she could not bear the idea of bringing a child with even the smallest amount of demonic lineage into the world. I thought that was the true reason as to why she killed herself. No other explanation made sense to me.  I thought I was the reason that the last of James line had perished from the world,” she bit back tears of regret and remorse. “I retreated into the Spiral Labyrinth, trying to find a measure of peace and solace. It wasn’t until the Dark War that we learned that Jace survived and I began to question the truth of what Valentine wanted everyone to know of Stephen and Celine.”

“I suppose that is a very long story to explain that I wasn’t sure of my welcome, and I didn’t wish for you to be overly burdened. Jem and Emma are the last of the Carstairs, and so it was with joy he could invite her to our wedding. And through her, all of you came too. We’d hoped to have more of a relationship after we’d found Kit.”

Yes, Julian knew Kit had a lot of his own questions to ask Jem and Tessa. He’d already asked Julian, but Julian had been just as much in the dark as Kit. 

Magnus clapped his hands and the tension of the moment broke. “Explanations are all well and fine, but we do have other matters close at hand.” He nodded toward the road that led to the entrance of the Institute parking lot.

Two dozen Silent Brothers, each with an Iron Sister between them lined up against them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This whole chapter and what Emma and Julian did together was inspired by a quote from the story Evil We Love from Tales from the Shadowhunter Academy by Cassandra Clare and Robin Wasserman.
> 
> “I guess I think two people in love become something else, something more than the sum of their parts, you know? That it must be like you’re creating a new world that exists just for the two of you. You’re gods of your own pocket universe.” –Michael Wayland
> 
> With all the possible unlimited potential of the parabatai bond, why can’t they make their own pocket universe?


	20. Standoff

“Why aren’t they coming any closer?” Emma asked. She’d pulled Cortana free, the sunlight making it glow that much brighter.

“I put heavy glamour wards on this place Em, I’m not sure they can see through it. They have to know we’re here though,” Julian said thoughtfully. He didn’t seem nervous or scared though, he looked anticipatory—ready for anything to happen.

“I did warn you they would be able to track the kind of magic you just did—anyone with a scrap of magic in the world, probably felt some shift in it,” Magnus said.

Julian looked at Jem. “Will they be reasonable about this—or will it come to a fight?”

Jem frowned. “There is a division within the orders, much in the same way there is within the Clave itself. There is a faction that believes that you and Emma are the most dangerous thing in the world right now—beyond even that of the Black Volume or a war with the Unseelie King. If you won’t do your duty and submit to them, they will try to kill you regardless of any logic we can make to them.”

Jem looked at Julian’s world, a bubble blown within the in between spaces of the earth. It was something only Angels or Demons were believed capable of doing—remaking worlds. “And you have to admit they would be right, if this power fell into the wrong hands. Even if you are not cursed in the way we believed, Julian, power of any magnitude can be corrupted. Especially by emotions. Anger, jealousy, greed. There is also the effect of unintended consequences. To make this world, did something else have to be sacrificed or be destroyed. I don’t know the answer, and you are too new and untrained to know either,” Jem shook his head sadly. “Do not underestimate them, Julian—they have centuries on you, and just because they haven’t figured out how to gain access or get through the wards doesn’t mean that they won’t.”

“Best get this over with then,” Julian mumbled, as he strode to demarcation line where one side was his world, the other theirs.

The sun was bright on the hooded Silent Brothers, and Julian wondered if the sun ever bothered them the way it did vampires. They too, lived most of their lives underground. He wished he’d had the time to speak more with Jem, if only to tease out more of the inner workings of the Silent Brothers. He didn’t like negotiating with so many unknowns, but he’d do whatever he’d have to in order to keep Emma and his family safe. He always would.

He couldn’t see their mutilated features, or even guess at their reactions. The Iron Sister’s expressions were carved in stone, devoid of any emotion. Julian thought of his Emma ever wearing that look—the one where there was no connection to joy and laughing, passion or love, one where there would be no more quippy remarks. Not even sadness or grief. For an artist who tried to read enough of a soul to capture it to canvas with paints and inks, he wasn’t even sure there was a soul still living behind their faces.

And that was a very scary thought.

As he walked toward his fate, a trace of vinery sprang up around his heels, but they didn’t tangle around his ankles, merely followed him—like Tavvy’s puppy. He shivered at the sight remembering how Magnus had just told him of how dangerous this world might be, and of Jem’s warning of unintended consequences. He remembered the vision of the water from Lake Lyn where he’d awoke in his room to see the painted castle protected by hedges of Blackthorn—and how his walls had bled. He thought of the vines from the blighted circle, how they’d woven themselves throughout the ground. Just how much of his subconscious was woven into this place?

Emma saw it too, and lazily swung Cortana to cut through them. They danced out of the way before Cortana could strike, as if they had a sort of intelligence—as if the vines recognized them, and were playing a game. He turned to trace the path of where they originated, and saw them wending all the way back to the quickbeam still anchored in front of the Institute. It was left over from his and Emma’s whipping, but small branches with green shoots were now turning it into a tree, and the vine looked to be rooted at the base.

Maybe that was why it followed, but didn’t harm them. Jem, Tessa and Magnus were also watching the movement, both with fear and curiosity. Emma kept her sword in her left hand, but with her right one she waved it in the air inviting the vine to her. She must have picked up on some of his thoughts. It curled around her wrist gently, like it was sniffing her, then slipped around her hand like a small child seeking its mother.

What was really weird is that he could see the thorns. They were not normal thorns, but clear-like acrylic—or _adamas_. He lured a vine to him and pricked the pad of his thumb on it. Wickedly sharp it broke the skin and a welling of blood appeared. The thorn turn red as it suckled the offering and all around his feet golden flowers burst into bloom.

If a little Blackthorn blood as an offering in exchange for protection he’d take it. “It’s here to help protect us,” Julian said knowing it was true. The statement didn’t ease any of the anxiety on the others faces. Decisively he walked through the barrier of the wards, Emma never leaving his side. The vines followed and curled themselves through the Silent Brothers and Iron Sisters’ feet. Jem, Tessa and Magnus were close behind.

The Silent Brothers were like marble statues. The skin of their bare hands, poking from their parchment vestments looked of stone—hard, unyielding—nothing like a human body.

“Emma and I have broken Clave law by falling in love with each other,” he began. “And we know the truth of the curse. Yet I’m no longer affiliated with the Clave, nor will be bound by their archaic laws. Magnus and Jem have also informed me that in addition to being a Shadowhunter, I am also a warlock—a Downworlder. Because of that, Emma and I are not affected by the curse in the same way full blooded Shadowhunters are.”

“It is true,” Jem Carstairs said coming forward. “By now, they would have succumbed to the curse with the type of magic they are wielding, yet they haven’t—as Jonathan and David did not in times past. We believed it is the trace of his demon heritage that has given them an immunity from it.”

“You are a fool to believe that,” and Iron Sister hissed. She was angry, and Julian was relieved to know _something_ still existed behind their masks of indifference. Anger could be dangerous though, and unpredictable.

“As you have treated me from my recent ill health, you now the direness of the warlock sickness,” Magnus chirped in, the confidence of a warlock practitioner with over four centuries of experience. “Julian and Emma gave me an Alliance rune so as to share their strength with me, and I believe that may be the cure for those afflicted with the curse. If the _parabatai_ magic can be extended to include a warlock—a triumvirate, if you will, then the imbalances of the Seraphic and Demonic magics can be restored. A cure, shall we say.”

“It’s a possibility you have to investigate,” Julian said willing to give them so hope. They’d be less likely to come after him and Emma, if they had their own chance at reclaiming a normal life.

_Many parabatai spin promises when this day comes for them_. The words flowed across his mind. He didn’t know which Silent Brother the words emanated from.

“Today Emma and I healed the land where the Blight took root with a rune that Clary Fairchild gave us from her heavenly visions. But, we must chase after the Black Volume and Annabel in the heart of Faerie, if we are to stop the further spread of the blight—the further disintegration of the world’s wards, and stop the severance of seraphic magic.  So, we cannot be the ones to heal the lands here, but _you_ could—why would you not want to do this?”

“And with the warlocks banned from working with the Clave?” another Iron Sister asked. She had red curly hair, and looked ageless, but Julian felt a spark of determination from her.

“You do not need to stand with the Clave,” Julian said in a compassionate voice.

Magnus gaped at him—again. Really, Julian thought, he should be getting used to this by now. Even Emma had a sublime Cheshire cat grin, as if she finally understood how Julian went about doing things—even if he hadn’t planned them out ahead of time. He’d use any opportunity to his advantage.

“And our Alliance rune with Magnus seems to have cured him of the warlock sickness as well. It could be an opportunity for you to help each other,” Julian continued.

He didn’t have time to hear their response before the clouds above boiled a storm’s cauldron and spit out Gwyn leading a caravan of Faerie steeds, with all his family.

No! The timing was off. He’d hoped to have this finished before Gwyn arrived with the others. He could only imagine how fast they rode in the sky. He could see Tavvy sitting in front of Mark with a little boy grin of delight as the wind made a whirlwind of his curls. Julian could almost believe that for this moment Tavvy was happy and Julian was glad for it.

Julian cursed. His family _would not_ be caught in the middle of this.

~~~       

The Institute was gone. From their view high above they could see where it had once been, but it looked as if it had fallen off into the ocean, a shearing off from a cataclysmic event. Mark had Tavvy’s golden puppy tethered to his chest and his youngest brother sat before him looking down in confusion.

A dangerous storm surge of power rippled across the sky in their flight toward home, and Gwyn rushed forward to the call. Kieran had galloped ahead with Gwyn while Mark was left behind to make sure the rest of his family was shepherded to safety.

He felt a blooming fear of foreboding that something terrible had happened to Julian. He saw the golden glint of something like a mirror reflecting off the sun. He aimed toward it and saw in the distance a semicircle of hooded figures and women in white flanking the road that lead to what would have been the parking lot of the Institute.

Gwyn had landed and Diana, Kieran and Cristina were armed and looked ready to do battle. They wouldn’t stand a chance against the Silent Brothers and Iron Sisters. He didn’t know what he should do—circle the sky in relative safety because of Tavvy, or land and fight. “Aline!” He shouted.

She steered her horse close to him and Mark lifted his brother to her horse. “Keep him safe in the skies until this is over.” His words sounded harsh, but Tavvy didn’t struggle or argue and as soon as Mark was free, he aimed toward the gathering. The puppy tethered to him yelped in excitement. The two other steeds that carried Helen and Dru, Tiberius and Kit chased after him.

He wanted them to stay safe in the skies too, but as they worked as a family to rescue Tavvy when Malcolm had taken him, he wouldn’t deny them a chance to help Julian and Emma now.

Was that it then? Had they come for Julian and Emma? Had his brother and Emma been taken? And what had happened to their home?

As soon as he dismounted he could hear Helen and Julian arguing, and he felt a punch of relief. His bow already had arrows drawn—he would be ready no matter what.  He heard Julian’s clear voice warning his sister, “No, Helen. This is not your fight.”

“You are my brother, so yes it is,” she disagreed. “Why are they here Julian? Because you have to know that we won’t let them take you.” Helen turned to Magnus. “You won’t either, will you?” Mark and Kieran circled around bows drawn and Cristina, the diplomat, approached warily. Emma shook her head, no, and she backed away, still primed for a fight.

“I think we were coming close to an arrangement before your arrival,” Magnus said.

“We were not, warlock,” another Iron Sister with dark hair and a lot of disdain said.

In a calm tone, Julian said, “Diana, please take the others inside while we work this out.”

Diana’s brows creased in deep concern. “Julian, the Institute isn’t there anymore.” She glanced at Gwyn who nodded his agreement. He too looked perplexed.

He heard Emma sigh. “Just wait,” but Diana was looking at her like the sanity part of the curse had reared its ugly head.

“We demand you turn yourself in to the justice of the Clave,” the Iron Sister with dark hair demanded. Silent Brothers were, well, normally silent, but it was odd to have the Sisters making the demands and the dictates. 

With a twist of Julian’s fist, the vines wove themselves around to manacle the lower half of the white parchments and ivory dresses. It was a subtle shift in their demeanor, a wary stiffness among most, but one Iron Sister gave the others away. She flinched and kicked as the vines and thorns tightened around her calves shredding the material of her dress.

“This isn’t necessary, from either of you,” Jem said stepping between them. He sounded flustered as he approached one of the brothers. “This doesn’t need to escalate.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Julian agreed, but he was too busy looking at the vines. When he’d offered his blood, the vines had blossomed into golden blooms of lily-like flowers. But, the adamas thorns were sharp enough to pierce through their impermeable stone skin. There was no blood, though. Like a mundane syringe, the thorn was a needle siphoning off the blood—drinking it away. At first a wild golden vine formed with small golden flowers, but then the vine darkened to a charcoal, became brittle and cracked. The flowers golden petals blackened on the end as if curling away from a burn and dark circles splotched like a cancer or disease splattering the softness.

Julian looked at the diseased vines and knew that was not how they should be. He saw the wrongness, the wrongness of the Silent Brothers, and realized it was the taint of the curse winding its way through the brothers and sisters, through the flowers.

The implications were staggering. The Silent Brothers, the Iron Sisters—their magic and runes were interwoven into every aspect of Shadowhunter life. And if their magic was tainted by the curse, then that taint was woven into all Shadowhunters as well. “Magnus?” Julian asked.

“I see it,” he acknowledged.

“We wish no fight with you,” Julian reiterated. “I can free you to go on your way, or you can stay and give your life’s blood to the vine.” Already they were growing, creating a taller hedge at the boundary of the Institute wards. They wove in between his siblings, Kieran and Cristina, Gwyn and Diana, Jem and Tessa as if they could differentiate those that were helping to protect with those who came as enemies with ill intentions. “But understand if you come for me and Emma, or any of my family again, I will send these vines into the very heart of the City of Bones and the Citadel. They will seek each one of you and do much worse than they are now. There will be no mercy.”

Cascades of poisoned blooms continued to grow around and between them, almost waist high. He had to finish this while he still had a visual of them. “When they are done, they will pull your sanctuaries apart from their foundations, and leave nothing standing in their wake. We have offered you hope, and a chance for your own freedom from the curse—it’s up to you what you want to do with it.”

Silence stretched, before he heard the whisper in his mind: _We accept._

Julian nodded acknowledgement and breathed a sigh of relief. That was the worst bluff he’d ever done in his entire life. Now, he just had to figure out how to call the vines back. Magnus was gracious enough, or freaked enough to come over to him and whisper a hasty recommendation. Julian followed the advice, like a rider reining in a horse he pulled the vines away in a mental image, and like docile and obedient creatures they followed without argument.

The Silent Brothers and Iron Sisters vanished before them. Julian still had to learn that little trick, although he wouldn’t complain given everything else he’d manage to accomplish for the day.

Once gone, the thorny cables and dead flowers turned sandy and dissolved into the ground beneath them. Julian stretched his senses and could still feel them alive beneath the earth, slumbering in dormancy until called on again. He wiped a bead of sweat from his brow and exhaled in relief.

The last Faerie steed of the hunt gently landed next to him, Aline carrying Tavvy. Tavvy jumped off the horse and ran to Julian who swept him up in a relieved hug. Holding his brother like this, knowing he was safe, settled the fear inside him.

“Brother of mine,” Mark said in an ere of formality. “May I inquire as to where you put our home?”

~~~

The landscape looked as if the Institute had dropped into the ocean. There was no parking lot to cross, only a fall straight down into the churning sea of ocean below.

“Where did it go?” Tavvy asked, his golden puppy on a tight leash next to him, little boy fingers fisted in the hair. The puppy was whining seeking comfort from the boy. Julian gently reached out his hand to let the dog sniff. He did, but retained a skeptical look, even as his tail wagged harder. Mark had a comforting hand on Tavvy’s shoulder.

“It’s still there, Tavvy. It will always be our home. A Blackthorn home,” Julian said in a soothing voice. “Emma and I layered it the best protection spells we could think of, and it’s hiding behind a glamour rune. The Centurions are gone now. Would you like me to show you the path to get there?”

“It was very careless of Zara to have her Institute go missing,” Emma quipped and Tavvy giggled. “I wonder what she’ll tell the Clave?”

Julian turned toward Jem, Tessa and Magnus. “Emma and I are going to Faerie soon, but before we do I wanted to have a memorial for Livvy. I don’t know when we’ll be together again, so it has to be now. You are welcome to come, if you want? Gwyn,” he added, “we would like you to be there too.”

Tessa’s tight face relaxed a bit. “We would like that,” she said.

“I would be honored to be included,” Gwyn said, a formidable presence standing next to Diana. “I would also admit to a curiosity as to what magic you have done here. We felt the ripples of it on the winded sky.”

Julian explained to the others all the day’s events, from the building of their new home to the family secrets of Tessa’s lineage in their blood—how he was also a warlock and because of that, not affected by the _parabatai_ curse.

Julian traced out a careful path, as he taught the others how to see around the bends of light creating the glamours. Once they understood _how_ to look through it, it was easy enough to find. There was no shortage of awe once they saw the land rising up behind the Institute where once it had only been an ocean of water.

Julian had made his own castle, his own citadel to keep his family safe. If all the wards failed and the blight spread, this place might be the last bastion to survive. Emma thought of the cave sanctuaries Clary spoke of on Edom, and thought the Nephilim there might have thought the same things. She repressed a shiver, and felt Julian's eyes stray to her.

_I’m fine._ He’d heard her. The mind speech was getting easier. Did this mean he was going to be able to read all her thoughts? While making love this could be a boon—other times not so much.

Cristina came up and grabbed her hand and squeezed. “This is something,” she whispered in a conspiratorial voice. “How are you?” she asked, concern in her dark brown eyes.

Emma rested her head on Cristina’s shoulder for a moment. “Remember when we were wishing for Mexico with flashes of green at sunset?”

“I had not known that was your wish,” she said.

“It was. For me to go to Mexico with you. I thought it was a small wish, one that could come true. I think I understand that wishes might not have boundaries now and that is a very scary thing.”

“The curse?” Cristina asked softly. “I heard Julian tell the others about the curse—you are free.”

Emma shrugged, suddenly feeling very tired—the adrenaline was drying up.

“It’s so much power, like a tsunami. And Julian and I are so terribly small for it,” Emma confided. “We managed to not let it get away from us _this time_ , by the Angel the control he has—“ _Steel and temper, daughter_ , her mother’s words echoed in her mind. “But I don’t know about the next time. This kind of power is meant for Angels and Demons, not mortals. Cristina, I’m scared.”

Cristina hugged Emma tightly. “Maybe some time away then, maybe to Mexico, will not be such a bad idea?”

Emma’s smile was wan. “Then there is always the Clave—someday, I’d like to go. And your mother?” Emma asked her friend. “This was a big decision of yours to throw in with the Alliance. You may not be able to see her again for a long time?” 

Cristina rubbed her Raziel pendant. “I think it will work out in the end. I have faith.”

They walked through the glamour carefully following where Julian led. The Institute had been changed. It wasn’t the same. Even the parking lot was a layer of clear quartz adamas and the slate from the roof now held a goldish tint that reflected the sun. She hoped the glamour extended to protect them from the eyes above.

Gwyn was walking close with Diana, their heads bowed together in a low toned conversation. Would the Hunt be able to find this place from the skies above? It didn’t seem so, if he couldn’t see through the wards she and Julian resurrected. This place seemed wholly isolated from the outside world. She shivered in disbelief at all that her and Julian were capable of.

Julian was standing before what had been the old quickbeam, which had manifested into a trunk of a tree whose genus she didn’t recognize. The remnants of the vines formed a loose manacle around the base of the tree, weaving itself down into the roots of the earth. She didn’t like the way he was staring at it.

“What is it?” she asked quietly, coming to stand next to him.

“I didn’t mean to do this, had no idea I could,” he said just as quietly as if imparting a deep confession. He lifted his hand and his fingers gently plucked a golden acorn, displaying it on his open palm. “I had golden acorns on my wish list of things to bargain for the with the Seelie Queen—a way to communicate outside Faerie. And here they are.”

She shivered. “We don’t know that’s what this acorn does?” Emma said. “That’s faerie magic and different from angelic or demonic.”

“We don’t know what any of this is yet—Magnus warned us of that,” Julian said. “But I am a warlock, and we used not just unlimited _parabatai_ power, but were linked to Magnus’ power as well,” he said in awe.

“But those vines didn’t work to harm any of us. Your intent, _our_ intent,” she corrected, “was to build a sanctuary to protect the kids. I thought it was going to be just warding and glamour runes—not _this_ ,” she said taking his hand and squeezing gently. “I think we’re going to have a lot of exploring to do when we get back.”

Julian’s face relaxed into a smile. “I’m glad to hear that,” he admitted. “That we’ll both be coming back—together.”


	21. 'For Death and Mourning the Color's White' -From a Nephilim's Nursery Rhyme

A soft knock rapped Dru’s door. “Dru?” she heard Helen’s softer voice. “Can I come in?”

Dru sighed and went to answer the door. “Livia’s memorial,” Helen stuttered a little, the words difficult, and stuck in Helen’s throat. Dru always thought of Helen as stately and refined—unflappable. It made her seem more human and relatable to Dru that she was struggling just as much as the rest of them with Livvy’s death.

Helen cleared her throat and started again. “I went through the storage trunks in the basement,” Helen said. “Dad’s old mourning clothes should fit Julian—he’s grown so tall. But I found Mom’s too,” she said handing the folded clothes to Dru. “I think hers will fit you.”

Dru felt her eyebrows raise in disbelief as she hesitantly took the folded clothes from Helen. Dru was taller than Helen—she’d always grown faster than her age, both up and out. Helen was so petite and dainty, elegantly beautiful with platinum hair, Dru felt like a lumbering oaf when standing next to her. While she was touched that Helen would even spare the time to think of her, a part of her was really angry and wanted to shout— _Don’t you understand that even though their adult clothes, they won’t fit me either!_  

It wasn’t that she was even really angry at Helen, or the stupid clothes, she was just angry at everything—the unfairness of it all.

Dru knew that Livvy would have understood, wouldn’t have blamed her for not having anything appropriate for the memorial; but Helen was perfect—there was no way she could ever relate to Dru’s struggles. “Who do you think Mom was mourning?” she asked, just to change the subject so she wouldn’t burst into tears. She didn’t know how she was going to get through the memorial today.

“She went to the Academy at the same time as Valentine,” Helen said. “She had to have lost people she cared about during the Uprising.”

“What about her parents?” Dru asked. “I asked Julian, but he didn’t know much about them.”

Helen sat down next to her on the bed. “I’m sorry Dru, I don’t know much about them, either. I know they died before Mark and I came to the Institute. She never really spoke about them, at least not to me.”

“We can look up their names in the genealogical records, but that’s all we’ll ever know about them—just names. They lived whole lives and we’ll never know anything about them. Even great-aunt Marjorie either didn’t know, or wouldn’t tell. And I barely remember Mom,” she whispered.

Helen brushed a stray curl behind Dru’s ear and leaned in to prop up Dru’s drooping body.  “I _do_ remember Mom. She didn’t give birth to me, but she always treated me as a daughter of her blood—same with Mark. We’ll talk of her, and I will tell you as many stories as I can remember. Maybe we can trade,” Helen said shyly, “for I missed a great deal of Livia’s life, and I would know more of her too.”

Dru’s lower lip trembled, and she just nodded, tracing the embroidered runes on the cuffs of the clothes. “Why don’t you try these on?” Helen urged. Dru blinked back tears, but couldn’t think of a way to avoid it, so she took a deep breath and headed toward her bathroom.

She set the clothes on the sink and looked at herself in the mirror. Pudgy with reddened eyes from an earlier crying fit, she felt so ashamed. How was she going to go out there and embarrass herself with how ridiculous she looked stuffing herself into too tight clothing. Maybe she didn’t have to—maybe she could just refold them and say the her they didn’t work. It would still leave her with nothing to wear today.

She sighed, deciding this needed to be faced, like one would slaughter a demon—with courage in the face of terror. She pulled her pants and t-shirt off and readjusted her bra, trying to comfortable with her body.

She pulled on the pants first and was surprised how comfortable they were and was astonished the waistband was even a little loose. Maybe that was because Mom was always pregnant, but no—Helen said they were from her time at the Academy, and that was before she married her dad. She wiggled a little and the pants actually fell to her hips, enough so that she may even need a belt to hold it up. She looked in the mirror and saw saucer eyes of disbelief staring back at her.

Dru shook out the jacket, her fingers running over fabric, straightening it out. It was big enough to almost look like man’s. She pulled it on, and again it was a bit loose on the shoulders, but the cuffs of the sleeves hit her wrist just where they were supposed to. She buttoned it along the side and was dismayed to find the chest area had plenty of room to grow.

An almost hysterical laugh bubbled up as she wiped away a stream of tears. Did this mean her boobs had plenty more room to keep growing too? Raziel help her.

Her mom had been big like her. She wondered if Great-Aunt Marjorie had ever called her mother fat. Blinking back tears, she fumbled with the clasp of the locket around her neck. It was Livvy’s and Julian had given it to Dru after—

She sucked in a breath, not wanting to think about it. Her thumbnail popped it open and she saw two small pictures. Her mother on one side, her father on the other. She looked at the tiny oval image of her mother, smiling eyes in a face she guessed could be considered round.

When she finally came out Helen was looking at her spread of movie posters. It was not how most teenage girls decorated their room, but she was a Blackthorn—she suspected none of them would ever be normal.

Dru wanted to ask— _Mom was big like me?_ But to ask that question seemed degrading and she wouldn’t ever do that to her mom. Obviously, Eleanor Blackthorn had not been a glamourous petite faerie, like Lady Nerissa. And still her father had loved her, married her, had a boatload of children with her. Dru struggled to reshuffle her memories, because that hadn’t been what little Dru remembered of her mother. She remembered her mother smiling and laughing at the dinner table as her father made her laugh, smelling like good food in the kitchen, and night time stories and lullabies. Actually, a lot of the stuff Julian did for them—that must be where he got his nurturing from.

Dru had always felt like an outsider in the family, between being at an odd age and an odd size. She knew she was a Blackthorn because of her hair and eyes, but otherwise she sometimes felt like the stork had made a mistake in the family delivery. But, maybe…she was like her mom.

Helen could see the fresh deluge of tears, but before she could ask Dru burst out in a half sob, “I didn’t think I would find mourning clothes to fit—“ she sniffled. “They fit perfectly. It’s like she gave me a gift today. She and dad—they’re taking good care of Livvy, right?”

Helen blinked back her own tears and nodded. “I don’t know what happens to us after we die Dru, but I do believe that love binds us together like threads.  I believe so because I know how much they loved all of us. I remember when you were born you were so tiny. It’s easy to forget how small newborns are. Ty and Livvy were only two, but they seemed giants compared to you. You cried, and Ty didn’t like that at all. Livvy kept shushing him and she was impatient to finally get to hold you—because even back then Jules had dibs and poor mom, having to play mediator, imparting vast wisdom and logic on a four-year-old and two-year-old twins. She liked to sing, do you remember that?”

Dru nodded. She was six when her mother died. She’d been kept in her own room away from everyone for what seemed forever—but was probably only the one night when her mother had finally passed. She’d said goodbye, but she’d thought of it more as a goodnight and didn’t understand when she went to go see her mom the next day, why everyone was so sad. Or what death meant—only that she was never going to see her mom again.

It was the first time she remembered Ty really rocking—it hadn’t bothered her, but her father had kept getting frustrated with her brother. Ty hadn’t talked for a long time after that, either. She remembered her father being angry about that too, and how protective Livvy had been with Ty, even then. She remembered how upset her dad had been with _everyone_. Jules had been too—the first time his world had been upturned. She remembered that Emma hugged her back then, and said she’d make sure Jules was okay. Even now she bet that was just what Emma was doing.

“I’m worried about Julian,” she said confiding in Helen.

Helen sighed. “It’s only been a few years I’ve been away, but I hardly recognize who he is, the man he’s become. I asked him to take care of you and I know he’s done a good job. Dru, I didn’t know about Arthur or what Julian had to struggle with. I thought Arthur was taking better care of you, and I’m sorry I didn’t know. I couldn’t have come, but Aline would have. Nonetheless we are both here for you now.”

“But then you would have been without Aline,” Dru said thoughtfully. “That’s like Julian being without Emma. It was better this way, what Julian did. Maybe it was harder, but better.”

“When did you get so wise?” Helen fidgeted and looked uncomfortable. “It is not just Livia’s life that I have missed, but yours as well. I would like to know more of you too.”

Dru felt the warm sincerity brimming from Helen.

“Now that we know that Jules and Emma will be okay, we could start planning their wedding,” Dru offered.

Helen looked at her sister jestingly. “Why do I get the feeling Julian isn’t the only schemer in this family?”

Dru shrugging imbibing as much innocence into the gesture as she could. She didn’t think Helen was fooled, but Helen pulled out her desk chair and motioned for Dru to sit. “Very well,” she said pragmatically, grabbing a hairbrush off the desk. “Tell me of your plans, while I fix your hair.”

~~~

Julian had showered and shaved, thrown on an old t-shirt and sweat pants. His father’s mourning clothes were pressed and laid out on the bed. He stood staring at them not quite knowing what to do next. He had to be strong for the family, but when he put on the clothes—it would just become so real.

A brisk knock rattled his door. It was Tiberius’ signature rap, direct and more than loud enough to be heard.

Julian opened the door for his brother who brushed past him, eager to be let in. Ty looked awful, red eyes and cheeks. The Silent City had been different; they’d all be in the numbness of shock. To take this final step of a memorial—it meant they’d accepted she was dead. It needed to be done: for closure, especially for Tavvy and Diana, but it was hard. For all of them.     

“What is it Ty?” Julian asked walking over to his brother. Ty was obviously agitated and didn’t like to be touched, but that didn’t stop Julian from pulling his brother close for a hard hug. Ty didn’t move away, in fact seemed to take comfort from him. “I miss her too,” Julian choked out.

He felt Ty flinch at his words and he pushed away from Julian’s embrace. His hands started their butterfly movements and Julian wished he has something on hand to soothe Ty.

“Do you blame yourself for what happened to Livvy?” Ty asked.

Julian felt like he’d been punched in the stomach. “Because you shouldn’t,” Ty said. “It wasn’t your fault what the Cohort did, or Annabel. We tried to stop them. You can’t blame yourself for what other people do.”

“Where is this coming from, Tiberius?” Julian asked his voice gone rough, trying to give himself a few moments to recover. Julian rubbed his chin, and felt the smoothness of the skin once more. Ty had a couple nicks on his neck and with a start Julian realized he’d shaved for the memorial too. God, when had Ty become old enough to shave, and why hadn’t he asked Julian for help? _Because he’s not a kid anymore_ , he thought.

“I thought it was my fault. I know it’s not now, even though it still feels like it is. When you feel emotions strongly it disrupts logic. I forgot that—but Kit helped remind me. He said that you felt the same. He said I should tell you that I don’t blame you. Do you think that I blame you?” Ty was speaking overly fast tripping over his own words in his rush to get it out. The butterflies spun faster.

Julian was stunned. Because Ty’s mind worked differently his abruptness and bluntness were at times both refreshing and terrifying. This was one of those times, and Julian clicked through his mind as fast as he could trying to figure out how to respond. “First, Ty, why would ever think what happened was _your_ fault?” he asked in the calmest tone he could muster.

“Because I sent Annabel that letter, and she came because of it. Kit said she saved our lives when the Riders came. She did—but that doesn’t make up for what she did to Livvy.”

Tiberius looked directly at Julian then and he could see the anger and need for vengeance reflected back. Whatever logic Ty thought he’d found he was still being fueled by his emotions.

“No, it doesn’t. Nothing will ever make up for that,” Julian agreed.

Julian did blame himself though. “Ty, it was my decision to take Annabel to the Council meeting—and I promised her things I thought I could deliver in exchange for testifying. I didn’t realize how many of the Cohort would be there, nor how malicious. From what I remembered of the Council meetings—those few times I was allowed during the Dark War—even then it was not like that. I didn’t predict what would happen, so yes, Ty, I am responsible.”

“You can’t predict everything. You do not have the gift of divination.” Ty looked him in the eye again, so Julian would know how very important this was to him. “Livvy wouldn’t blame you.”

And for once Ty hugged his older brother first.

~~~

There was another knock on the door, softer this time, timid like afraid of interrupting him. Dru then. He opened the door and felt a softer gut punch. Dru looked beautiful with her hair intricately braided in a swirling updo. Normally she wore braids that made her look like Pippy Longstocking, but with her hair up and the stark mourning clothes, he realized even at thirteen she was no longer a kid, any more than Ty.

He’d grown up too fast too.

“Helen did my hair,” she said self-consciously when she saw his reaction.

“You look beautiful, Dru. I’d call you baby girl again, but it seems you’re getting too old for that,” Julian said. “I’m glad mom’s clothes fit you—I thought they might.”

“I didn’t remember her being big like me—that’s not how I thought of her,” Dru admitted.

“She’d be really proud of how you’ve turned out,” Julian said giving her a quick hug. “I’m glad you stopped by—Emma and I, we have to leave after the ceremony and I wanted a chance to talk to you before we left.”

She chewed on her bottom lip nervously. “I know you have to go too, that’s why I came.”

Mark and Cristina were going with him and Emma as far as the Seelie Court and Helen needed to return to the wards. But, that would mean leaving Ty behind as the oldest. Next was Dru. They had Diana now in a way they hadn’t before, and Helen could now travel if needed—but he was acutely aware of how terrifying and untethered her world must seem to her. He didn’t want to have this talk with her, but he needed to. She needed to hear it, in case he was a long time coming back.

“I know everything is changing again, Dru, and I’m so sorry for it. I’m glad you came because I wanted to talk to you about Tavvy.”

“Is this about more babysitting?” she asked suspiciously.

He smiled, but it was an old smile, worn with the knowledge he’d grown into these last few years. “In a way,” he said, a patted a place down on his quilt for her to sit.

She sighed, and flopped down. “Am I supposed to be a nursemaid to him now?”

He frowned. “No Dru. I don’t expect you to be his babysitter, I expect you to be his older sister. This is another one of those grown up lectures you’re probably going to get mad about, because it involves a lot of responsibility and often times responsibility doesn’t just include the things you like to do.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I guess I sounded a bit like a brat.” 

Julian put his arm around her shoulder. “Never,” he said. “And I wish we didn’t even need this talk. But, when you say that you don’t want to babysit, I need you to understand that this isn’t what this is about. Babysitting is like saying that you’re just standing in until an adult comes into relieve you. But, I don’t know how long Emma and I are going to be gone, so you’re going to have to be more than a stand in. You have to be the adult. I remember how proud I was of you when Emma told me how she found you sword in hand, ready to fight Sebastian himself if he came for Tavvy. Or how you curled your body around his, protecting him in the Accords Hall. Or even when you refused to be left behind when we found out Malcolm had taken Tavvy. Those aren’t in the normal duties of babysitting—that’s what a sister does. So I know you can do this. You’re his last line of defense, between him and whatever the world is going to throw at him. And I don’t just mean the demons.”

Her eyes grew round. “I never thought of it that way,” she said absorbing the weight of his words. “How have you done it all these years, Jules? You were younger than me, and I can’t tell you how scared I am of you and Emma leaving.”

“I love you guys, that helps a lot. It’s just that for me there wasn’t any other choice. But, you’re not nearly as alone as I was. Diana is the official ‘adult’, but she is going to be busy keeping this place running, and she deserves the occasional night off to go on a date with Gwyn too—she deserves to be happy. We all do,” Julian said.

“Tavvy misses Livvy a lot, we all do,” he said. “If she were here she would do it, not just for Tavvy, but for you too. She was pillar in your foundation and that has been ripped away from you too, so I want you to understand that it’s not just Tavvy that I worry about—but you too. Then there is Ty—“ Julian had more than enough anxiety over Ty, but he needed to focus on Dru right now. “Ty, I think, will be able to help more, at least with the new puppies. They can help each other, but Tavvy misses Livvy and so do you. You can’t replace her, but you can miss her together. He’s afraid of not remembering her, probably of me or Emma, or Mark when we go. I guess I’m asking for you to keep us alive for him—so he doesn’t forget. Talk to him, read to him, cuddle with him on the nights he has nightmares, make sure nobody forgets to feed him.” Julian’s lips twisted sardonically. “I’ll put Ty on that list as well, but I think Kit will be hungry often enough to remind him.”

She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I can do it,” she said with an unusual amount of determination. “He needs me, and I promise I’ll be there for him. But, I needed to talk to you before you go, but I’m afraid you’ll get mad.”

Uh-oh. “What about?”

“It was something that happened back in London and I promised to keep a secret—but you’re going to Faerie and your lives are more important than this secret, even if I’m not sure it will help you at all.”

“Okay, go back sweetie. You promised a secret, to who?” Julian asked, a rare wariness creeping up his spine.

She looked miserable and guilty, and Julian’s first thought was who am I going to have to kill. “I don’t want to get that person in trouble, either. If I tell you will you promise to protect him too?”

_Him?_ “Who?” Julian asked.

“Cristina kind of knows, but not all of it,” Dru hedged.

“I’m glad Cristina was there and you could go to her, but you’re really worrying me by not getting to the point.”

Her spine stiffened as if she were she were steeling herself up for a great confession. She frowned and there a was a little crease between her eyebrows she sometimes got when Julian knew she took an extra serving of food and then felt guilty for it afterward. Julian was never one to be too concerned with her weight—everybody was built differently, with their own strengths and weaknesses. It didn’t interfere with her speed or her training, he watched her sometimes just to make sure, but she was a good fighter. Maybe he hadn’t been paying enough attention to her.

“Jaime Rosales was at the London Institute. His family is supposed to be protecting some kind of Faerie artifact—it’s supposed to be some kind of weapon, but they don’t know what it does or how to use it. It’s supposed to be really important though. The Cohort found out the Rosales had it, and so Jaime took off with it and disappeared, while Diego pretend dated Zara to find out what the Cohort knew.”

“Oh,” Julian said caught off guard. Cristina had been more vague than he realized when he talked to her about Diego earlier. He still didn’t like Diego, and having his younger brother slink around an Institute making acquaintances with his thirteen-year-old sister was not acceptable. “Cristina knew about this?”

“Yeah,” she said. It was accompanied by another guilty look.

“Dru, after Malcolm can you understand why I’d be worried about what your telling me,” he said trying to stay patient with her. He was going to come back as soon as he could and have a chat with this Jaime. He cleared his throat uncomfortably, “Did he ask you to do anything—with him, things that maybe made you feel uncomfortable—“ he started.

“Eww—gross!” she said in a way that made him think she was old enough that it wasn’t gross to her at all, but scandalized enough for Julian to feel that bit of relief that Jaime hadn’t try to take advantage of his sister in _that_ kind of way.

“I know you’re my older brother, but Jules, seriously—did you take Kit out and give him a talking to when he kissed Livvy?”

“He kissed Livvy?” Julian asked feeling like the leftover tire treads of screeching car being neatly sidetracked into another lane.

“I guess I feel better that you didn’t know either—oh my god, are you going to now?” she asked with an edge of glee. “Seriously, can I watch?”

“Dru, I’m an expert in distraction, and we’re talking about _you_ right now. I’m not falling for it,” he said, even as his mind scrambled. “Did Jaime have this artifact with him? And why did he trust you?”

“I guess the Blackthorns have a reputation,” she said in an exaggerated sigh.

“I suppose we do,” he agreed. “And?”

“Downworld talks about us. Half of them hate us because of what happened to Malcolm and Nightshade, but the other half knew we were going up against the Cohort. Jaime thought that if we were going up against them, that we must be the good guys.”

“But why not go to Cristina?” Julian asked.          

“Cristina had trouble with the whole Faerie bond thing—“ she explained. “You didn’t see how bloody and swollen their wrists were and it was so painful, so it was like they couldn’t even be separated.” This was all said with either a deep appreciation for the possible romantic implications, or the possible horror of imminent painful death implications—he wasn’t sure which. She was right though, Magnus had managed to undo the binding the spell, and he and Emma had missed most of the drama.

“You didn’t want to tell me this, but you did. What was important for me to know?” Julian pressed.

“Jaime left his duffle in my room,” she said. _What was his duffle doing in her room?_ He didn’t have control over that thought and he watched Dru’s eyes go wide as if she heard him.

“Never mind,” he said grinding his teeth. “Go on,”

She told of how she must have accidently come in contact with it, and triggered it somehow. “It was totally weird because for a few seconds I was in Faerie. I think maybe that’s what it is, a secret way in and out of Faerie, maybe some kind of portal.”

Julian felt his eyebrows raise. “Was it like a projection, or were you actually there?”

“No, I was definitely there,” she said, an echo of fear shining in her blue-green eyes. “I think I was somewhere in the Unseelie Court because there were carvings on the wall—one of the symbols was the broken crown.”

“What happened then?” Julian bit his lip and shoved his terror down, all the while counting his blessings that Dru had managed to somehow get back safely. Still the idea of her being alone and unarmed in the Unseelie Court?

“There was a boy there. He said his name was Ash. He was about my age, white hair, really green eyes. They reminded me of something—and it’s driving me nuts because I can’t figure out what,” she bit her lower lip in frustration needing to give Julian as many details as she could remember. “He asked me if I was a Shadowhunter, and if his mother had sent me—wanted to know if she was worried about him. But Jaime must have taken off with the duffle, because I was suddenly jerked back into my bedroom, and it was gone.”

“Oh,” was all Julian could think to say. He went to his desk and pulled out his pastels and grabbed his sketch pad and some pencils. “Do you think you can describe him well enough for me to draw?”

She nodded. “He was beautiful,” she said very softly, then cleared her throat. “I mean it would be hard to forget his face.”

After some gentle questioning he had a grasp on what the boy looked like. He knew what he was drawing before he was even done, and felt cold all over. _He’d been with Dru!_

“Julian, you look like you want to kill somebody. Do you know him, the boy?” she asked hesitantly.

“What boy?” Emma asked from the doorway. She saw his face and instantly went on alert.

~~~

Ty had followed Jem downstairs. He’d been discreet. He wanted to talk with him when no one else was listening. He found Jem in the dusty old music/storage room. There were things that had been down here a long time that no one had touched.

His puppy close on his heels was eager for the experience of new sights and sounds. In the corner of the music room were some old family portraits that had never made it to the walls of the dining room. It was the portrait of Benedict Lightwood stacked in the corner that the puppy promptly aimed and relieved himself on. Tiberius should probably be angry, but from what little family legends he’d heard of the man, he probably deserved it. Maybe Jem knew if any of those tales were true. With a quick glance from the corner of his eye he saw Jem lifted an eyebrow at him. Ty looked to the concrete floor, his foot tracing along a crack.

“Tiberius,” Jem welcomed him in a gentle tone.

“I followed you,” he said. Jem had found an old violin case and had it opened inspecting the instrument. “That was Emma’s father’s violin. Why do you have it?”

“It belonged to me a very long time ago. Emma asked me if I would play it for Livia’s memorial, if of course that is alright with you. Livia was your sister, your twin. I have not had the opportunity to say how very sorry I am for her loss.”

He felt himself frowning and couldn’t stop his hands from clenching and unclenching. The puppy sensing this rushed up to jump on his lower legs. He picked the wiggling, excited dog in his arms and gently scratched his head.

“Emma doesn’t like music,” Ty said confused. “Why would she ask you to play?”

“Emma doesn’t like music?” Jem asked equally baffled. “I am very sorry to hear that. My parents were killed when I was about the same age as Emma when she lost hers. There is nothing to make one feel so alone. But, I played my music, and I think it helped me to heal. That and my _parabatai_.”

“Not since her dad died. He played all time. I think it hurt her to hear it, to remember. It’s been down here since he was murdered, but I don’t think she ever comes down here. When I want to listen to music, I have my headphones.” He stepped over to look over the violin. “Sherlock Holmes had a Stradivarius—is that one?”

“No,” Jem said. “This was made by the luthier, Giuseppe Guarneri.”

“They were contemporaries, and rivals,” Ty said nodding. He examined the violin feeling how old it was just by looking at it. “There was a small ice age in Europe between 1645 and 1715 and scientists have theorized it was because the maple trees they used to craft these instruments grew more slowly, and became a denser wood—that that may be a reason they have superior sound. They also treated the trees with a sodium and boric acid composition as a primitive insecticide and fungicide, but there are also small imperfections in the symmetry. Perfect symmetry can cause unpleasant harmonics, so it is ironic what makes superior sound is imperfection.”

Jem looked at Ty appraisingly. “I didn’t know you were a violin aficionado. Do you play?”

He shook his head.

“Would you like to hold it?” he asked offering it to him.

Ty shook his head. He _did_ want to hold it, but he didn’t want to break it. And he didn’t want to let go of his dog. “What song were you planning to play?” Ty knew all the classical music, but nothing felt right.

Jem put the violin beneath his chin and pulled the bow across a string. They both winced at screech, “It’s badly out of tune,” he said at the same time Ty said, “You sound just like Emma.”

“Emma tried to play the violin and it sounded like this?” Jem asked dumbfounded.

Ty nodded, bobbing his head quickly. “When she was little she tried so hard to play. She’d practice for hours then come here and play for us and it was awful. Mr. Carstairs thought he was a bad teacher and hired out others—they all quit. Julian likes to support her, so he said nice things to her, which I didn’t understand.”

Jem laughed.

“Finally, Mrs. Carstairs sat Emma and her father down. I think she was maybe ten then, because that’s when Emma started training with Cortana. Mrs. Carstairs told Emma that her music was the one of battle, and her instrument was Cortana. She practiced just as hard with Cortana and was much better at it.” Lost in thought he continued, “After Mark got taken by the Wild Hunt, Emma and Julian would plan on sneaking into a Faerie revel with the hopes of finding Mark there. Emma thought she could take out her violin and serenade everyone. Julian said, ‘ _Their ears would bleed and the torture would be so great that they’d give us Mark back just to make her stop playing.’_ I didn’t understand that it was a joke,” he said suddenly very serious again.

Why couldn’t he understand the people in the world around him? And everything was so much worse with Livvy gone. He felt completely untethered—even from his family.

Jem must have sensed his change in mood because his voice sounded very different than it had been when he was laughing only a moment ago. “You asked which song I wished to play,” Jem said. “Usually in these instances I play from my heart.”

Julian worked with him enough of idioms that he _thought_ he understood what Jem was saying. “But, you didn’t know Livvy. To be in someone’s heart means you love them. So, how can you play from the heart?”

“The last time I held this violin, and played from my heart was when my _parabatai_ Will died. Decades have passed and I still miss him. I can play from my heart not because I knew Livvy, though I’m deeply saddened to have lost the chance to know her, but because I understand what it feels like to still miss a part of my soul gone from me in this life. And I think that is music you might understand.”

Jem came up to him and Ty panicked that the other man would try to touch him. He couldn’t tolerate simple touch gestures like clapping a hand on a shoulder, or even a hug from strangers—even though he sometimes craved it. Livvy had been with him since his very life began, so her touch was normal and familiar—and he didn’t understand why he could accept Kit’s touch.

He put down the puppy and walked to the corner of the room, starting his rocking again, moving as far away from Jem as he could.

Livvy. He couldn’t think about this again, but that was all he’d be forced to think about all day. He didn’t want to go the memorial, but he had to. Julian told him it was too important for him not to be there.

“My music has helped me say things when I have no words. As I said, the last time I played this violin was when my _parabatai_ died. I have said prayers for him to watch over Livia, and maybe my music will help those words reach him.” Jem said, not coming any closer—respecting Ty’s need for space.

“As a Silent Brother, do you know what happens to our soul when we die—that your _parabatai_ can even hear you? Or that he and Livvy are even in the same place?” He felt like he was tripping over his own words, desperate for someone to know—and to tell him the truth.

He smiled grimly. “No. It is only that I have faith that if he were able he would. And love is a precious thing that survives, I think beyond death. For both those of us that pass on, and those of us that remain. I miss my _parabatai_ , Ty, as you miss your sister. That will never change, for my love is constant, as is yours.”

He thought that over. “Sherlock Holmes is my favorite book series. He plays the violin. I wish I could do what you said, that I could play for Livvy,” he sounded wistful. “I still don’t understand how she would hear it, though.”

Somewhere in the distance he thought he heard Kit calling his name. He was supposed to find Ty when the others were ready. He squeezed his eyes shut just wanting to shut everything in the world out. But hearing Kit reminded Ty of why he’d come down here in the first place. “I followed you so I could ask you about Kit. He’s confused because he doesn’t know about his family. Will you talk to him? Answer his questions?” He stumbled of the words in his haste to get them all out at once. It was something he sometimes did and he hated that he didn’t sound normal.

“Yes,” Jem said, but his tone made Ty think he was frowning. “That is something both Tessa and I need to do, and we’ll also speak to you and your family if you have any questions about Lucie or any of the other Blackthorns. But, not today. Today is for your sister. We’ll come back soon though, I promise. Perhaps when I do, I can give you a violin lesson as well. I’d hate for you to miss the chance to learn because there was no one here to teach you.”

Ty’s head jerked up. He looked at the violin with longing. He was probably too old to be any good, but maybe Jem was right and the music could soothe him like his new puppy. He loved listening to his music, and he meant what he said. He’d like to play music for Livvy. Maybe she could somehow hear him if he did.

~~~

Dru had been more than happy to find the excuse of checking on Tavvy so she could give them time alone. She even smiled, was happy for them—and he was glad for a day of such sadness, that he could help her find something to still be grateful for. He could be with Emma now, he had a lot to be grateful for himself.

“You haven’t changed yet,” she said coming up and tracing the smooth skin of his freshly shaved face. “I like you like this too,” she said. “And don’t get a haircut,” she said blushing furiously.

Arousal came furiously. It was happened all the time around her and he didn’t need to hide it anymore. He wrapped her in his arms, as her fingers traveling up his spine and his whole flesh rose in a quilt of goose bumps. He moved into kiss her, but she pulled away. “Not now,” she said again. “I’m still angry.”

He let her go and collapsed on the bed running rough hands through his hair. “I get it,” was all he said.

Her eyes couldn’t help veering off to the updates he’d made of the mural on his wall. He’d worked on it, with the thought in his mind I-A-M-R-U-I-N-E-D.

Gone were the pastels and shades of sienna that made it look like something out of a storybook illustration, instead giving way to deep blues and indigos that warred with bright golds and bronzes. The colors were more in line with Van Gogh’s _Starry Night_ , but he’d altered the original painting in other ways too. He’d included the falling of Angels from Heaven above, some getting trapped on the thorny vines while others Angels in the background fought battles above the sea, as demons tried to rise from the depths below.

He’d tried to censored himself not wanting to scare the kids—the darkness of the painting a small reflection of the well on pain he suffered and endured. Being ripped apart by those chains of thorns would have been easier than letting go of Emma. He didn’t have to now, that is if Emma could forgive him. He understood the irony of finally being able to have her, only to have messed things up enough that he’d lose her.

But, she still loved them, or they wouldn’t have been able to make this world together—he was hanging on that hope.

“Everybody’s heading to the beach, they’re almost ready—you haven’t changed yet,” she said hesitantly.

He looked over at the clothes and felt sick to his stomach. “What did you say to her?” Julian asked staring down at the jacket, not reaching for it.

Emma was confused, “What? Who?”

Julian’s breath hitched. “Back in the Silent City—Dru wanted us to use the Black Volume to bring Livvy back. What did you say to her?” His voice was terrifyingly calm even as his hands were shaking. He wondered if this is how he looked when he went ‘scary Julian’ to Emma.

“I’ve done horrible things Emma. Everything from Arthur to not telling you about the Sanger rune. They’ve all been for good intentions, and I’m not sure I would have done anything different. Darkness or evil…how can you be so sure I’m not more broken than you think I am? There is no excuse of a curse for why I do what I do—this is me. Even I’m not sure I’ll be able to resist the temptation of having her back again—using the book when we find it to make things right. Sometimes that’s the only way I feel like I’ve gotten through this so far, is to have that tiny flicker of hope that in the end I’ll somehow be able to fix all this.”

“Oh, Julian—“ she flew into his arms and held him tighter to her than she’d ever had before.  She took his face in her hands and looked directly into his fathomless eyes. “When I look into your eyes, I see _you_ ,” she said hoarsely wiping away a stray tear. “And that temptation makes you human, like all the rest of us, not evil.”

She sniffled, trying to contain her own emotions. “I told Dru that you’d spoken to Annabel, and she told you what it was like—being brought back from the dead. How excruciating painful it was for her, trapped in between being alive and dead—how she went quietly mad unable to even scream. She said before Malcom had tried to resurrect her, she’d been in a place of peace, and after it was anything but.” She squeezed his hands in hers. “I told her you would never torture Livvy like that, that you’d take the pain of grief on yourself before you ever let her be hurt that way.”

_Dru, he needs you now. I don’t know how he’s going to get through this. Please don’t ask this of him._ She’d also said those words, but Julian didn’t need to know that.

“I told her I wouldn’t let you, even if you wanted it.” _Blame me if you have to_. “And if the King had already killed Annabel, I asked her which remaining Blackthorn she’d choose to sacrifice.”

_Julian was the one with the ruthless reputation, but in that moment she felt the most terrible monster alive to say those words to a thirteen-year-old grieving sister._

_Eyes glittering, jaw clenched Dru had walked over and into Julian’s arms. “I’m sorry,” she said with a stoicism that broke Emma’s heart. “I’m ready.” And Dru hadn’t left Julian’s side, half supporting him through the ceremony. Emma had been on the other side of Dru, and she’d snaked her arm around Dru’s waist so she could still touch Julian’s back. Kit hung onto her other side, and she’d been glad for that._

“Thank you,” Julian said choking up. And she didn’t know if it were for Dru or for himself. He folded her into his arms and held her tight, his lifeline. He started rocking in her arms, like Ty did and she heard his gravelly voice, “I can’t do this today—for Livvy. She can’t be gone, Emma. She can’t stay gone. I still think it’s my fault for taking Annabel. You warned me not to over promise her.”

Emma didn’t say anything, just wrapped her arms around him making small shushing noises and held him as he cried. He needed to do this. “I didn’t protect her,” he hiccupped.

And there is the guilt, she thought.

“You taught her to be a warrior, a protector. Even you can’t control fate Julian. I had Cortana and I couldn’t stop it either, it just happened so fast.”

“I don’t understand what happened,” Julian moaned. “It should have been me. Why couldn’t it have been me?”

“I don’t know,” she said unable to do anything but hold him.

“I don’t know how to put on these clothes and go out there and say goodbye to my sister, Emma. I don’t know how to be strong enough for my family.”

“Julian, we _all_ feel the same way. I’m not sure any of us know how we’ll manage, but the one thing I do know is that we’re all in this together.” She kissed him then. It was a chaste kiss, her lips lingering on his. It wasn’t a kiss a passion, it was a kiss that sealed a promise between them. She reached for the jacket. “I’ll help you.”

~~~

Tavvy built a sandcastle at Julian’s feet, Jem played haunting a beautiful music. Tessa read a poem. And they remembered Livvy, and Arthur, who sacrificed himself on their behalf, and Andrew and Eleanor—Emma’s parents. Times had been too chaotic for a service back then, and Emma appreciated her family had not been forgotten.

Emma wondered about life, and the tally marker of those who lived on this side of it, versus the tally of those who passed onto death. How long would it be before more of them were added to the death side of things, until one day they all were gone from here, to meet up there? Is that how it even worked?

She looked over at Ty who managed to find an oversized white umbrella to match his clothes. He used it as a parasol to block the sun, but he also angled it to block his view from the rest of them—like he was hiding from the grief of Livvy being gone, or hiding away his own pain from everyone else. As soon as the service was over, he fled back to the house.

Seeing him hurt as much as missing Livvy, and she wished there was something, anything she could do to help him.

She wasn’t afraid of dying, but she was more afraid of not getting a chance to live, surrounded by the people she loved. Especially now that her and Julian were free. Free to love each other, free to have a future together.


	22. From The Ones Who Have Gone Before

Gwyn was stoic throughout, uncomfortable among so many Shadowhunters in such a private display of grief, but he would not leave Diana, nor Mark. Livvy had been under his protection from the Riders, and a loss of a child so young was an affront to him. He would join with the Blackthorns in however they chose to extol revenge for the injustice of her death.

In Faerie, it was believed that Shadowhunters were incapable of emotions, their mission from the Angels and their duty deadening any real emotions—but they were very wrong. Perhaps they did not express grief in the same manner as the Fae, but it was very real and raw.

He sounded his horn in honor of her passage into the Shadowlands when the ceremony ended. The family went their separate ways and he was privileged to walk with Diana on the sandy beach, an opportunity to finally be alone with her. This world was strange, that the _parabatai_ had created, but the earth below his feet felt strong and good to his old bones—a seduction to stay.

“Thank you for staying for the memorial,” Diana said. “You have been more than a friend to this family. And I think both Mark and Kieran consider you as a role model, if not perhaps a bit of a father figure.”

A rare smile creaked his lips. “That is a gracious compliment. I am sorry for the loss of your student. The Blackthorns are a very close family, yet they obviously think of you as one of them. I think her death was more for you, as well.”

“Yes, I miss Livvy sorely,” she sighed simply being present with her grief. “I will never give birth to a child, but Julian has placed these children under my guardianship until he returns. I find myself with a family, one I thought I’d ever truly have.”

Diana frowned, a crease forming in her forehead, the sun revealing dark smudged beneath her eyes. “Livia was exceptional. All of the children are—it feels like the heart has been ripped from this family. I understand it, have thought a thousand times of my sister, and I hate to watch them have to go through it. But, perhaps there is a way I can help them.”

“And what of your own grief?” Gwyn asked, his gaze direct and challenging. “Who cares for you?”

“What I care about right now is them. I think I will find my own loss soothed by helping them with theirs,” Diana said in the gentlest of voices.

“I am here, and you do not have to be strong for them in this moment. Let me be the one who is strong for you.”

Gwyn was a big man, enough so that when she leaned into him, he made her feel almost delicate. Along with never having a family, she never truly believed she’d have a true relationship with a man. She allowed herself to be held, and wept.

~~~       

Julian hated to interrupt Diana and Gwyn, but he needed to speak to the leader of the Wild Hunt before they returned to the skies.  They’d be leaving soon, and he wanted this business with Annabel, the Unseelie King, and the Black Volume finished quickly. He wanted to come back home and be with his family. Be with Emma.

Gwyn grunted as Julian explained how he and Emma planned to infiltrate the Unseelie Court to retrieve the Black Volume. “The Unseelie King needs to be killed before he causes anymore destruction,” Julian said. “It is thought would rule in his stead.”

“Adaon?” Gwyn asked in some surprise. “He is affable, but does not have a leader’s heart necessary to rule his people. You understand the Courts, Son of Thorns. He will not survive a year before he is killed, and the Unseelie Court will fall into chaos as varying factions compete for the crown.”

“Enough that the Seelie Queen can come in and unite them,” Julian said finally understanding the Queen’s motives, and not surprised. It was the same dream the King had, a common one of tyrants—expand your own empire by swallowing up your enemy.

“What of Kieran?” Julian asked resigned.

“He is too young yet. Given another century or two yes, but a child cannot be expected to rule a place as harsh as the Unseelie Court.” Gwyn looked candidly at Julian. “Like Adaon, he will not survive the year. It may come that even one of the Riders will want to take the King’s place.”

Julian swore. _That_ possibility was almost worse than letting the King live. “I do not know the Fae well, have had little time there, and I know even less of their politics, yet I am sending my brother with Cristina and Kieran into the heart of the Seelie Court. I came to you in hopes of advice.”

“I am surprised that you would have so favorable of feelings toward me considering Mark was under my Host, and his punishment was served on you and your _parabatai_ ,” Gwyn said.

Julian breathed deep. “The Cold Peace has been hard, and it is true that the Clave were the architects, but the King and Queen were the ones who chose to war with the Nephilim. Yet, you offered my siblings your protection from the Riders, and I think for all of the hardships Mark endured riding with the Hunt he would not be alive now, if not for you. You are harsh, but you have also taught him to survive in yet a harsher world. I think he was lucky to have you. You have a hard duty for your people, leading the Hunt, yet you have managed it with a level of honor. I know this, or my brother would have been returned to me a very different person than he is. And I know there are Wild Fae who hold no allegiances to either courts, yet are swept into the politics of the decisions made by King and Queen. I do not paint all the Fae with the same brush as the Courts, or I would not be speaking to you otherwise.”

Julian took a moment to gather his thoughts. “This magic rooting into our worlds from the Black Volume supersedes any petty political conflict. I don’t think the Courts or the Clave understand that. As a Shadowhunter my oath holds to Raziel and the Angels, no longer the Clave and I hope that you will join me in finding a way to stop this.”

“There is wisdom in you for one so young,” Gwyn said impressed.

“I had a good tutor,” he laughed. “Don’t hurt her, it would be a shame to cross all this way only for me to have to kill you later.” It was said jokingly, but the Fae did not understand jokes in the same way as humans, and that was fine with Julian.

Gwyn born of a different century and vastly different culture looked at Julian with new respect. “You speak as her family patriarch, negotiating a courtship on her behalf?”

That threw him a bit. “Diana is more than capable of her own negotiations, but I’ll support her in whatever she chooses. That was simply a warning that we love her, and expect you treat her with love and respect as well.”

“She is lucky to have found a home with your family,” Gwyn said sincerely.

“As are we,” Julian agreed. “I _do_ wish to make a personal familial friendship with you, however.”

“An Alliance?” Gwyn asked intrigued.

“Nothing so formal as that,” Julian said. “But, the Hunt has been strengthened by Mark, by his being a Shadowhunter, was it not?”

“What is it you propose? Mark has left the Hunt, has he changed his mind? Does he wish to return?” Gwyn asked.

“He has not.” Julian stated firmly. “It was a choice of one, or the other, and I have learned that perhaps there can be more of a compromise. I have come to understand that a part of his soul would always yearn for the abandonment and freedom of the skies.” He’d seen Mark after Livvy’s death, and had thought it inevitable that he would lose his brother as well.

“I do not understand.” Gwyn said his lips pursed in confusion.

“The Blackthorns are willing to offer our friendship to you, and as a tithe of good faith, on the night of a full moon, a Blackthorn can ride with you in the Hunt.”

“You say Blackthorn, but not Mark?”

“I will not commit him if he doesn’t want to go—if it comes to it, I’ll ride. Or if one of us is somehow unavailable, another may take his place. And it is true humans have shorter lives, and I believe there will be another Blackthorn generation born one day, to perhaps carry on the tradition,” Julian said.

“That is not of our way, Julian Blackthorn,” Gwyn said.

Julian was assuming Gwyn could agree—he didn’t know of any faerie rule handbook that said he couldn’t, so he pressed the issue. “You are the ruler of your own domain. You can set a new precedent at any time. I love my brother. I will not have him sacrifice his faerie heritage to be a Shadowhunter, or vice versa. He is _both_. I believe he can live with a foot in both worlds.”

“You have not spoken with him on this?” Gwyn asked.

“I did not wish to get his hopes up, not till I spoke to you on the matter first. But, I believe our extended friendship is important to this family.” Julian knew how to cajole and offer a bargain. “It would give you a reason to come every month to visit with Diana as well.”

Gwyn put his hand on Julian’s shoulder, a rare moment of male camaraderie, almost fatherly in affection. There were few role models Julian had in older adults and while Gwyn been a sort of father to Mark for the last few years. Julian was glad to have someone he could respect enough not to have to fight.

“You will do, Julian Blackthorn,” Gwyn said in mirth, his eyes gleaming in respect. “Tell me what else this ‘friendship’ will entail.”

“I need to know everything I can about the Unseelie Courts,” Julian sighed his relief. “And help me find someone worthy to replace the King.”

~~~

Tavvy’s puppy had been caught off guard barking at a wave, his thick fur wet and matted with gritty sand, as he rolled out of the water. He shook himself off, spraying water everywhere, then whined and scampered off and away from the others. Tavvy followed, running to keep up. He wasn’t supposed to go too far out of sight of his family because there were things in the ocean that could grab him, and eat him. He’d seen the sea monsters out his window the night Malcolm had attacked the Institute. So, he’d had to chase after him, worried he’d get in trouble if he ran too far. Even though Tavvy was young, he was still a Shadowhunter. His pup needed to be protected from the ugly things on the sea.

Julian did things when he was young too—so Tavvy knew it was his duty and responsibility to protect his puppy. The little ball of fur was fast though. He ran like he was chasing something. It made Tavvy wonder if he could see or sense things that even Shadowhunters didn’t—like how he was the only one who could see Jessie as a ghost. At least until Ty had helped Kit see her too.

More yips and barks caught his attention, and Tavvy rounded a corner to find a stack of old driftwood that had washed ashore. Like old bones they were dry and brittle. Tavvy could see paws diligently digging a hole in the sand next to the gnarled logs. 

He was getting dirty and would need a bath later, but he was having fun, so Tavvy just sat next to him in the sand and looked out at the ocean. He’d heard the others talking, trying to figure out what this place was, that Julian and Emma built—what might be in it.

It was a weird question. Tavvy built things with blocks all the time. This was just like building a tower or a castle—and he desperately wanted to be able to do this someday, too. He especially liked how this place felt like home. The only thing missing was Livvy. He felt his eyes go hot with tears again, and without saying anything, he found wet fur beneath his fingers and a wet nose and a lick on his cheek.

“I miss you Livvy,” he said to the clouds. If his sister was an angel were the white feathery clouds her wings? “I finally named him. Ty and Mark helped me. We all decided that since they were now part of the Blackthorn family we should give them Greek names too. I named my golden after the golden hound that protected Zeus when he was a baby—Laelaps. I shortened it to the nickname Lee because Ty said it was good if dogs didn’t have long names. Zeus’ hound lives in the sky now too. He became the constellation of Canis Major, which made Mark happy because he likes the stars. He says he always knows where to find me now.”

Tavvy bit his lip hard afraid he was going to cry again.

“Tiberius named his Argos after Ulysses’ dog. He was the only one to recognize Ulysses when he finally came home after the Iliad and the Odyssey. But I hope Ty never leaves. I would miss him, like I miss you.”

The puppy whined again, tail wagging fiercely. Tavvy petted him, liking how soft his fur was. He liked being alone out here. It was nice because he didn’t need to worry about someone fussing over him, or trying to find something else for him to do, while they all did grown up stuff. He liked coming out here to talk to his sister when no one else was listening. He’d be willing to share this special place with Rafael and Max. He’d liked meeting them. And maybe they could visit here, and they could go exploring together. Maybe when he got older he could even be a _parabatai_ with Rafe.

He’d eavesdropped—Dru said that was a fancy word for listening in on things other people didn’t want you to hear, about how _parabatai_ could maybe partner with a warlock, too. He thought that was a neat idea because he and Rafael could maybe do that with Max, and then they could be _Triabatai_. He thought that might be fun—to have friends, and not to always have to be the youngest.

But, Dru was convinced that Jules and Emma were going to get married and someday have their own baby together. If they did, he wouldn’t be the youngest then either. He was already taking care of Laelaps, so maybe they would let him help with a baby, too. He’d be an uncle.

Livvy wouldn’t be here to see any of that though. And she wouldn’t be there to read him stories and tuck him in when Julian was on patrol with Emma, or be able to see a new painting he’d done. He was all of a sudden really sad.

“I love you Livvy,” he said staring out into the ocean. His eyes got sparkles in the them, the way they did when they became bowlfuls of tears and he rubbed the back of his hand to clear them. 

And he couldn’t believe what he saw.

Falling down around him like fat snowflakes were the prettiest feathers. Long and white with the edges tipped in gold. He stood up quickly, jumping up and down to catch them all. He was so careful not to bend or damage them. After collecting them all he spread them out on the log to examine each of them—six in total.

_Kit thinks she’s an angel now. Our guardian angel._ And Kit could see ghosts, so he would know. Tavvy also had a good memory, so he remembered it when Kit said: _Angels have wings and they fly. So even though we can’t see her, I think she’s still with us._

“Livvy?” he asked into the sun soaked air.            

~~~       

Julian found Emma with Jem and Tessa as they were saying goodbye to Magnus. He’d already pushed things too far today, but if Tessa was willing, he didn’t think this could wait. He felt in his pocked for the reading glasses wrapped in a handkerchief, wishing for so many reasons that there was another way.

He joined Emma and smiled affably at Tessa. He still wasn’t sure what to make of her. “Can I ask how much of a toll the warlock sickness has taken on you. You look young and healthy, but are you? I know Emma and I would be willing to share an Alliance rune, if you needed it.”

Tessa’s eyes widened. “That is very generous, Julian, but I’m truly not in desperate need. I’ve found myself ailing in proximity of the circles, like Magnus—but in a place like here, I feel completely normal.”

Julian glanced at Jem and saw the relief behind his eyes. He suspected Tessa had been farm more ill than she was leading on.

“From my understanding, it’s in your power to shapechange into someone enough that questions maybe asked and answered of them. Is that true?” Julian asked.

Tessa nodded, “Yes. It is a talent I try not to use. The longer that I’ve used it, the more a violation I think it to be to the person I use. I will though, should circumstances call for it.”

“So, you can do it? If the person is dead and the knowledge he has died with him, you may be able to retrieve it,” Julian pressed.

She was still hesitant, ageless eyes looking upon him speculatively. “This is not merely questioning for curiosity on your part, is it?”

Julian shook his head. “I’m hoping for answers about the Black Volume—and I don’t know where else to find them, and I just don’t have the time. When Emma and I are in Faerie we’ll already be in enemy territory—we’ll be dealing with enough unknowns. Will you help me?”

Emma was looking at him quizzically. She was annoyed he hadn’t talked to her about this first.

Tessa’s eyes were wide and guileless. “Who is it? I need to be prepared, or Jem and Magnus will need to do a protection circle—if it is of someone who has a lot of power. I’m not infallible and I’ve fallen under control of those more powerful. Please, tell me it’s not Malcolm.”

Julian shuddered. Even he hadn’t thought of that, although he should have. It was a good idea though. They spent so much time working to stop him, the last thing he wanted to do was bring him back.

“Although,” Magnus said playing devil’s advocate, “I would like to ask him some questions as well.”

“It’s a Shadowhunter.” He pulled out the handkerchief containing the reading glasses and unfolded them for her.

“Size?” Tessa asked.

“What?” Julian asked confused.

“Never mind,” she said in a gentle laugh. “Magnus?”

And with a wave of his hand Magnus had summoned a robe for her. “Clothes do not shapechange with me, and it can be awkward to have them fall off because I become too small, or rip to shreds because I grow too big.”

“Oh,” he said absently, waiting patiently as Magnus waved a small popup beach tent to give her some modesty in changing. “Will I be able to do that?” Julian asked Magnus. “Summon anything I want?”

“All warlock talents are different,” Magnus informed him. “It will take time to know exactly what all your talents are, although I can make some guesses.”

“If he’s a warlock, does that mean he’s immortal too?” Emma blurted out. Tessa had just come out of the tent which vanished as quickly as it came. She looked incredibly sad.

“Both my children and their descendants have aged and died in the normal course of time,” she said sadly. “I think that is the natural order of life, as it should be.”

“What about half faerie, Shadowhunter with warlock blood?” Julian asked watching as Emma’s eyes widened. “When Mark was returned to us he hadn’t really aged. I thought it was because in Faerie time could work differently, but Helen too, seems very young,” Julian asked.

“It is likely that should they remain in Faerie their aging will slow to that of their mother’s people. It is an effect of the Faerie land itself on the Fae people, that gives them, in part, such longevity,” Magnus explained.

“That isn’t in the Shadowhunter books,” Julian said.

“No, I believe there are quite a few secrets that never found their way into books,” Magnus observed. “It will be interesting to see what tales arise out of how _this_ place was created—or if it will even have a link to earth, or simply become a faded memory to those few that know it exists.”

Julian frowned. He wanted a safe place for the children, not one unconnected to the bigger world. He’d do everything he could to keep the door between worlds open.

Tessa gingerly lifted the pair of reading glasses into her palm. He watched in fascination as her body transitioned—growing, breaking, reforming to grow tall. Her hair contracted to a shorter length, her shoulders broaden to that of a full grown man. It was a good thing she was wearing a robe, because Andrew Blackthorn was a much bigger man than Tessa Gray.

Julian knew there was nothing he could do to prepare himself to see his father. He didn’t understand just how real the man in front of him was, and unconsciously chewed back a hangnail. It was serendipitous that Emma’s earlier rune on his maimed hand had regrown his nails. More material for gnashing.

“What is it I need to do to break you out of that habit?” his father asked him in a voice that he hadn’t heard in years. He felt suddenly a little boy again, no older than Tavvy and all he wanted to do was have his father hug him, tell him all would be well—just be there.

It took unbelievable effort to relax that hand to his side. His father had hated Julian’s nail biting habit as much as Ty’s butterfly hands.

Emma, as always knew. She stood beside Julian, squeezing his hand in reassurance. “Hello, Mr. Blackthorn.”

The man looked confused. “I know you—you remind me of Cordelia.”

Emma winced. “I’m Emma Carstairs. It has been a long time since Julian and I have seen you.”

Andrew looked over his son, examining him with a critical eye. “You have grown—tall. How can you be a man already? And one who needs to shave. Have you married your Emma yet?” At least this version of his father recognized him as Julian and hadn’t called him Arthur. Julian couldn’t have stood that. Was this really Andrew that he was speaking with—how much of his father was really here, and how much of this was Tessa? He wanted nothing more than take the time to find out, but he suspected Tessa wouldn’t be pleased with him not telling her who needed to be questioned. If he wanted his father to stay, he needed to make it count.

“Father,” Julian said clearing his suddenly thick throat. “We needed to ask you about the Black Volume of the Dead. It’s a very important and dangerous book in the hands of our enemies. We were told that you brought it with you from Cornwall. Can you tell us why, and anything else you may know about it? Who wrote it, it’s history—anything.”

Andrew Blackthorn was at eye level with Julian—Blackthorn blue eyes reflecting each other. He was broader in the shoulders than Julian, with grey threads of hair mixed in with dark curls. His face was scarred, above his eyebrow, the side of his lip—a thousand details of a man Julian hadn’t noticed before. He shivered looking at this crafted ghost, wishing more than anything it really was his father. _I tried to take care of them_ , he wanted to say. Emma came closer enough he could smell the shampoo form her hair, soap and sun. _You did take care of them_ , she whispered in his mind.

His father looked agitated. “It was a book the family was charged to protect from the world. The family tried to destroy a very long time ago. The family legend said that it was written by a Greater Demon and contained the very spells of Hell itself. They couldn’t find a way to destroy it, it was indestructible—according to our ancestors. There was even some that believed our family has been cursed either by trying to destroy it or by keeping it our possession.” His voice was much lower and gruffer than Julian remembered. Filled with emotion?

“Why would you keep it though?” Julian asked. “Why not turn it over to the Clave to protect?”

“The book was written by a Greater Demon, but like the Gray book it didn’t originate in this world—this dimension. When it became obvious the old world would fall to the demons, the few remaining Nephilim escaped here—hoping to regroup to fight another day. Very few relics came with them, and each was entrusted to a different Nephilim family. We were blood sworn with magic to be their guardians. For the Blackthorns, it was the Black Volume, for the Carstairs,” he said turning to Emma, “Cortana.”

He felt Emma shiver.

“The Black Volume was protected from opening, the magic contained, by a ruby skeptron seal. A couple centuries ago it was stolen by a warlock. The book was recovered, but the seal was missing. We have done our best to keep the magic contained. Warlocks for the past two hundred years have helped set up wards, but without the seal, I don’t know if it can be stopped. It’s believed it will bring the gates of hell open upon the earth, the blast that calls the horseman—the beginning of the end.”

Julian was more than a little flabbergasted and didn’t bother trying to hide a silent message in the form of an arched eyebrow to Jem and Magnus. This was not something taught to _any_ Nephilim, not even on a whisper or a rumor. A thousand questions bloomed into his mind, but he was interrupted by Emma.

“Warlocks?” she asked suspiciously.

“Ragnor Fell and Malcolm Fade. You can trust both of them,” Andrew said through a grim frown. “The Clave can’t even keep track of the Mortal Cup, they cannot be depended on to keep this safe from a rogue Shadowhunter or warlock who would try to use it for their own power, or worse for necromancy. What if Sebastian ever got a hold of it? Even Tatiana Blackthorn didn’t go so far to use it when she raised her Jesse from the dead. It is what our family does Julian—our responsibility—and we pay for it in the end. More than one generation has been cursed by keeping these secrets. You need to be warned of that too.” Andrew had grown alive in his passion to warn his family. This must have been something he’d planned on revealing to the family when they were older, like Tessa’s secret of the Blackthorn’s demonic ancestry. But death had caught up to him first.

It was a shock. This Andrew existed before Sebastian was slain. He didn’t know how Sebastian delivered him his fate of becoming Endarkened when he attacked the Institute—kidnapped Mark. He didn’t know the ending of the Dark War. It was like turning an old movie film projection on pause, mid-life, to stop and talk to the characters—completely unnerving.

_And Jesse? Another Blackthorn had used necromancy to bring a loved one back from the dead?_

Jem came up to him and whispered in his ear, “I know some of Tatiana’s story. I can tell you later—but Tessa tires easily. We need to finish.” Andrew’s gaze turned to Jem with a very peculiar look.

Julian’s throat closed up and he blinked back tears. It was so rare he ever allowed himself to cry. “When you go from here, you’ll see Livvy. She needs you and mom a lot right now, so please take care of her.” It was a stupid thing to say—this wasn’t really his father, or a ghost, or someone who could ferry messages to the dead. But, his heart needed to say the words—to believe Livvy had found her way to their mother and father, and somewhere they were together.

A dawning realization crossed Andrew’s face, as if he realized what Julian meant—Julian could practically see the marvelous mind of his father putting together the pieces of why he and Emma were no longer twelve. Like a door closing, a mask of stoicism came over his face that made Julian shiver. It was a mask that hid more emotion than Julian could ever hope to know. _Do I look that, did I learn that from him?_

Andrew clasped Julian on the shoulder. “Always we take care of one another,” he reassured him in a gruff voice. “We are family. Wherever, however we are. I don’t think I know all of you Julian, but I _know_ you’ll do the same.”

It was the strangest thing, but Julian didn’t feel Tessa anymore—this _was_ his father. “And Emma,” he said turning to her. “I know that if there is such a thing as destiny, you and Julian are bound by it. You will care for my son?”

“Always,” she whispered. Her voice hoarse with tears. “And tell my parents, I’m alright. Julian takes care of me too—that I’ve never been alone.” He smiled at Emma, and Julian knew that this is the face he would wear when he finally reached his father’s age.              

Andrew turned to Jem, and Tessa’s spirit was back, not Andrew as her skin remolded itself back to her original form. Tessa nodded in a direction over his shoulder and Julian turned to see Tavvy running full steam toward him.

“He was too far away to see,” Emma reassured him. Julian could only nod, feeling the exhaustion of his heart being ripped out again.

“Julian!” Tavvy yelled, laughing and smiling with utter delight. Julian barely had time to swoop him into his arms before being bowled over. Whatever the urgency, it wasn’t anything bad.

“Tavvy,” Julian said laughing with his brother. Moods were somehow contagious and he was more than happy to leave his gloomy sadness for Tavvy’s joy.

“I can’t wait to show you what I found!”

~~~

Cristina had expected when she came for her year abroad in Los Angeles, that it would be the first challenging step in achieving her dreams of renegotiating the Cold Peace. Never had she thought her life would spiral into such an unpredictable direction—her life, a leaf carried on the fate’s tumultuous wind. She never imagined finding someone as close to a sister in Emma, or meeting the boy that inspired her dreams (or coming to care for him so deeply), or being so accepted by a family that their grief became hers. Never had she thought she would not be part of the Clave.

She stared down, her fingers tracing the careful folds of letter that she’d quickly written to her mother. Por favor, entiendelo mamá. No me arrepiento de lo que hice, y espero que en el futuro podamos madre e hija de nuevo en tu jardin de rosas. Y te contaré mis aventuras en Reino de las Hadas, y sobre los dos jóvenes que estan robando mi corazón. _Please understand, mama.  I don’t regret what I did, and I hope in a better future we can be a mother and daughter again in your rose garden; and I will tell you of my ventures in Faerie, and of the two young men stealing my heart._ Magnus had promised to see it safely and inconspicuously delivered.

Now she was travelling to the Fae Courts as an Ambassador. She rubbed her pendant again. Raziel, ayúdame. Estoy hasta el cuello _, help me, I think I may be in over my head._ It was the nice thing about praying, you could be honest in your confessions, about your deepest secret doubts and fears, without having to reveal them to the world at large.  

Every theater production had a costume designer, one who could meticulously plan for the most dramatic effects for their audiences. Theirs was Magnus, for better or worse. He’d portaled in an entire wardrobe for them to choose for their presentation to the Seelie Court. He was a genius at finding unique attire with his unusual flair for apparel that was bold and sophisticated. While his fashion sense could be construed with no little skepticism from the mundane or shadow world, it was perfect for Faerie. She wondered where he plucked the garments from: his personal closet, museums, movie sets?

The corset was the foundation piece, becoming a very practical use of an otherwise impractical fashion garment. Lined with iron stays, she suspected Magnus had woven an additional layer of protective spells—it almost served like armor: and possibly enough to offend the Faeries. “Better to offend than be dead,” was all Magnus said to her misgivings. “The Fae will play their games of enchantment, whether you are their guest or not—and this will only give you limited protection against their glamours and illusions.”  It also allowed for her to have a readymade holster to stow her butterfly knives and balisong, and she’d found her laces made an excellent scabbard for a lovely iron misericorde she’d found in the Blackthorn armory. Fiery red and gossamer fabric floated around her, small satin slip sleeves edged her shoulder, with a low décolletage and the help of a corset, the boobs Emma had been so impressed with, were that much more impressive. She spun around in circles watching the skirt twirl around her.

A light applause interrupted her, and she realized Mark and Kieran standing together watching her. It was Kieran who clapped, a subtly seductive smile forming on his lips. “I look forward to dancing with you at a revel,” he said sweeping her off her feet in another graceful swirl. He let her go and she found herself grinning up into Mark’s eyes. Sadness still surrounded him, but there was also a hidden glint of eagerness—of hope.

Kieran came up behind her, so she was between the two men and she felt a very light kiss on her neck. Hypersensitive, the small gesture was enough to feel like her body was a plucked string, vibrating with anticipation. She was facing Mark, his blue and gold eyes turned dark with desire, his hand gently stroked her cheek, while Kieran continued to nibble on her neck.

She felt light and dizzy and aroused with an extra punch when Mark said, “And I shall dance with you both—among other things.” Mark’s usual tone of teasing turned serious—dark flirtations of implied promised.

Her breath hitched, for there was no room to breathe between them. Kieran smelled of wild forests, spicy sandalwood and danger tinged with frost, the scent invading her senses. It blended with Mark’s natural scent of the beach and home: sunshine, sage on the wind, and ocean. The two scents mingled around her forming a unique cologne of the combined men. She knew she was in horrible trouble, yet she’d never felt as excited about a future until now. She _wanted_ to be that leaf carried away by these two men. Her face flushed, she must look like an idiot because she couldn’t stop grinning. “I shall love to dance with both of you, as well.”

 She pulled away from them before they ended up on the floor, or in the bed together. She didn’t think Magnus would appreciate having to replace their wardrobe. Kieran and Magnus clothes shopping together—the world may never be the same again. He was gorgeous in the burgundy velvet, fringed with gold piping and hammered buttons. His pants looked to be made of the softest doeskin, tight and formfitting beneath his legs. Perhaps they were mundane jodhpurs—perfect for riding. He reminded her of pictures she’d seen of 18th century French aristocrats, ready for the red carpet. No one would mistake him for anything but royalty. 

Mark was a contrast. He’d decided against Magnus’ suggestions, and instead wore the formal white mourning clothes Shadowhunters wore for state funerals. It was a bold statement she didn’t necessarily approve of. It said: _my people and my family have died._ And a terrible warning to all he would meet of his suffering and loss—much of what could be settled at the feet of the Faerie Queen. Hung across his shoulders was a full-length fur cloak, the clasps made of bone and gold. It was a cloak of the Wild Hunt, and yet another warning. _I am more than just a Shadowhunter, but the fiercest of Fae warriors—I am of the Hunt._ That Gwyn had freed him did not mean he wasn’t dangerous, and the riders of the Hunt were feared by many of the Fae.

They would not be weak or subservient emissaries entering into Faerie. In fact, their position of power might actually put them in further jeopardy, while it was constantly challenged. But given a choice, she would always rather have a position of authority while negotiating. 

“I do not know the politics of the Seelie Court as I do my father’s, though I believe the Queen to be as evil in her own way as my father. We will be in constant danger there,” Kieran said to Mark and Cristina. “It is best that we stay close together. There will be less of a chance of us succumbing to Faerie tricks if we are together.”

“I agree,” Mark said.

“Yes, we protect each other—in the Hunt it is familiar. Cristina, I fear especially for you,” Kieran said. “As a Shadowhunter you will not be trusted.”

“Yes, will now be the time you tell us more of your family relations to the Faeries? Will you have allies of your own there?” Mark asked.

“I am under the protection of the Alliance,” Cristina stated firmly. “She cannot harm me.”

“She hasn’t sworn to the Alliance, Cristina,” Kieran explained. “And even if she did, that will not stop her cruelty. Your physical safety may be guaranteed, but that doesn’t mean she will not try to gain entertainment and enjoyment from your pain in other ways. I believe it is best for all of us that we remain together and don’t get separated.”

“What do you propose?” she asked suspiciously.

Kieran looked directly at Mark who gave a tight nod. Mark’s eyes were wide and he looked anxious which made butterflies dance in Cristina’s stomach. The two of them had discussed something without her.

“We wish to become your lovers,” Kieran said, for the first time becoming nervous. “As you said, to discover where this attraction goes between us—a chance to court you. We will demand from the Queen the same sleeping chambers, and you who have studied faeries must know that relationships of the heart are respected. It will give you an additional layer of safety, although that is not why we wish this. You and Mark partook in your own illusions to trick me once. I do not want illusions, but the truth. Something real.”

“Oh,” her eyes widened. She was a bit shocked to be approached so boldly. Courting was a serious ritual in Faerie—almost like the equivalent of getting engaged in the mundane world.

Mark stepped closer. “As you’ve told me, I am both Shadowhunter and Faerie, I love both you and Kieran. I don’t think I can have one without the other.”

_Love._ He’d said love. Her heart beat faster than a terrified rabbit as she absorbed this playful dance quickly turning into something much more serious than she’d thought. Beyond attraction, just what were her feelings—because this was no mere game of flirting and fun.

“I care very deeply, for _both_ of you as well,” she answered honestly. “My emotions are tangled, and I’m not sure exactly of what I am feeling.” Kieran looked sorely disappointed, while Mark’s face closed up. “Kieran, in the Shadowhunter world, we have something that is not as formal as a courtship, but something called dating. We spend time together, which we will most definitely do in Faerie. It will offer us time to get to know each other, give all of us the space to sort through this—of how we three could fit together. Three hearts to manage can be treacherous, and I’d like to take care with all of them.”

Mark perked up at that, even while Kieran seemed petulant. “Is that acceptable?” she asked.

Mark put his arm around Kieran’s shoulder, a measure of support. “It is true what she says, and the way of our people.”

“I will still demand shared sleeping quarters. I cannot protect you if you are not near me,” he said in defiance.

Mark winced. “That is not to say you cannot protect yourself, but you are unfamiliar with the ways of Faeries. What you learn in books is far different from actual experience. I am grateful for Kieran extending me the same protection, as I learn my way through the Courts—they are very different than the Hunt.”

She was a Shadowhunter and she could protect herself, yet she still felt a feminine thrill at a man wishing to see to her safety. And Kieran might find she was just as capable at defending him. Accepting shared sleeping quarters was a big step, but hadn’t she just thought a moment before their new finery would end up in tatters. She _wanted_ this, and she was tired of being afraid and making excuses.

She took a breath and it felt like jumping off a cliff. “Of course.”

Kieran looked mollified—and hungry. She felt the ever growing familiar butterflies dancing low in her stomach. Mark proffered his arm, Kieran his and she linked her arms through both. Mark leaned down brushing his lips against her ear as he whispered, “Oh, and Cristina—you can’t wear that corset to bed with us—the iron hurts Kieran.”

Kieran barked his laughter.


	23. Until We Meet Again

Julian met Emma in the armory. She had already changed into her gear and was checking over their packs. A line of iron weapons were situated on a nearby table, including a battle axe, two flails, a kpinja, a halberd, several daggers of varying lengths, and a beautifully engraved gnome hooked hammer she knew Julian was going to call dibs on. Dozens of iron tipped arrows were already placed in his quiver, along with three bags of rock salt. Diana and Emma had the armory well stocked, and while acting as the Institute head, Julian had signed off on every request they had, including his own as well. But, it looked like they were outfitting for a medieval war.

“When we went to Faerie you wore your dad’s watch. It was what you traded to the Phouka. It’s too bad you gave it away, or you could have given Tessa that to read from,” she said sounded surly.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked warily.

“I wondered why you brought the watch to Faerie because time doesn’t work the same there—and then when you gave it up, I wondered what the Phouka could have possibly promised to make you do that. It was one of the few things your father left behind. I didn’t put it together until just now with Tessa, but I think maybe you wanted to take a piece of him into Faerie with you, like a talisman.”

Huge blue green eyes stared back at her as if she’d somehow just slapped him. He looked incredibly vulnerable to her, and she was in amazement at the dichotomy of Julian: the one that fiercely and unflinchingly went head to head with the Faerie King or an army of Silent Brothers, compared to the little boy standing before her, who was terrified to lose everyone he loved. It was the Julian he only ever allowed her to see—but she couldn’t be his only support. He desperately needed Mark and Helen, and the younger ones too.

“Why didn’t you tell Tessa ahead of time that it would be your father you wanted to talk to?” Emma asked a little too casually.

He groaned, but manned up enough for the truth. “Because I didn’t know where else to get the information from, and I was afraid she’d say no.”

“Hmmm,” she said testily. “Cause you didn’t think she’d agree. I’m noticing a really unhealthy theme going on here, Julian.”

He knew she was right. “Sometimes I feel like I’m two different people,” he admitted. “There is the me that wants to live a simple life with you and the kids. That is the person that I _should_ have been if our lives hadn’t kept getting upended—and someone who wouldn’t ever have normally done those things. I want to be that person, Emma. But I feel like I have to sacrifice him to my ruthlessness—because I just don’t know how else to keep everyone safe. I don’t _want_ to be that way, and I don’t do it because I get any enjoyment from it—” he struggled to get the words out, ashamed, “I do it because I get desperate.”

“Being ruthless isn’t always going to work. Being desperate, and doing what needs to be done, is different than taking away people’s choices,” she pressed. “You weren’t willing to trust that she might have said yes.” His eyes jerked to hers and in that instant, they both knew that she wasn’t talking about Tessa. “You want my take on it, why you fooled Tessa?”

“Sure,” he said, but he didn’t sound like he really wanted to know. Too bad, she was going to tell him anyway.

“I never told you this, even now it’s really hard to talk about, but something happened to me after Iarlath’s whipping,” she began. She didn’t even realize she was trembling until he was by her side, an arm over her shoulder in a comforting gesture.

“What happened?” he said calmly. Julian and calm—never a good sign.

“I think I was a lot closer to dying than I let anyone believe. For a few minutes there—after the whipping, I think I was at the crossroads between life and death,” she said.

He bit his lip, she could see the edges of white from his teeth. “I know,” he said. “I felt it—like it could have gone either way. It was weird what I was feeling with the bond, like it was fluttering away—like I was losing you. I used one of those super runes on you, did you know that?”

She shook her head, “No, but it doesn’t surprise me though. I fought Malcolm that night and I shouldn’t have been able to. But, that’s not what this is about. Julian, I think I was at a crossroads of some sort where maybe the veil between the living and the dead opened—and I saw my parents.”

His eyebrows lifted in astonishment. “How could you not tell me something like that?” he asked, looking bewildered and betrayed.

“I was a little girl, and my Dad was playing the violin while my mother polishing weapons, just like I’m doing here—it was at our old House in Venice. It wasn’t like I saw them in Heaven or that I thought I was dying and had a choice to make. I was always coming back, I knew that, and so did they.”

He gave her the time to stumble through the story, his presence comforting her. She didn’t know why she didn’t tell him about their entire conversation—maybe that was something private between just her and her mom and dad.

She wiped away a stray tear, “Anyway,” she said on a deep breath, “what’s important about this, is that I got to say goodbye to them. I never had a chance to do that—rushing off to go to training, I _never_ thought I wouldn’t see them again. And there was no funeral, not even a memorial. They were just gone, and the grief just left me hanging. There was this empty place—you know, because of your own father. You were there for me every day, woke me from my nightmares and gave me a family when I wouldn’t have had one otherwise.” In a small voice she said, “I never thought I would say that I was thankful for Iarlath whipping me because it was such a gift, to finally be able to have that goodbye.”

She took the time to collect her thoughts. “I remember when you killed the Endarkened in the Accords Hall. I won’t say your father, because it wasn’t him. But you’ve never forgiven yourself. Even after all these years, I think you still believe that you murdered your father, and you’ve been carrying that guilt around with you the entire time. I dare you to tell me different, because I know you too well.”

“Everybody tells me it wasn’t my father—“ Julian started.

“Because _it_ wasn’t,” she insisted. “Julian, when you stopped him—you saved Ty’s life. I couldn’t have done what you did. When I saw my father in Unseelie Champion I wasn’t able to kill him, and if it had been me, Ty might be dead. It was an impossible decision. But I think when you killed the Endarkened you were also killing that last bit of hope that your father could somehow be rescued and saved. I think that’s why you couldn’t forgive yourself. Hearts and minds have different logics. Even when you know in your head that none of those who were turned could be saved—their souls were already gone. But, you never got any closure, either.”

“I know you’re really good at manipulating events, and you’ve told me you don’t know how or why you do it. But suddenly Tessa’s here and you need to see your father? Maybe you were orchestrating events so you could get that goodbye too—the one you didn’t know that you were even looking for. The one that forgives that twelve-year-old boy for something he had to do, that was never his fault.”

His laugh was brittle and she wanted to hold him and soothe him. That wasn’t a good idea now, he needed to listen. “Are you saying that we didn’t need that information, that we could have found it another way before our time was up—that it wasn’t something the family needed to know.”

“No, we needed it—but look how you went about it. You could have just told Tessa who the glasses belonged to. But you didn’t.” She paced around him, bracing herself. “When Jem told me I had to go to the Iron Sisters, I kept thinking about Annabel and what happened to her—how our lives are almost paralleling theirs. Julian, I don’t want us to end up like they did. You might not want to admit it because it’s too awful, but Malcolm became a second father to you after yours was gone. He was the only one you were willing to go to ask for help. And I think he took advantage of that. He hated you, and so he helped teach you how to lie, how to keep your secrets.”

Julian looked like he’d eaten something Mark made them for breakfast. “Emma…”

“I don’t mean to hurt you Julian, but you need to slow down long enough to think through the _why_ of how you do things. And to maybe have a little more trust and faith in people.” She tried to give him a smile, but it felt forced. “And there are things that I need to work on too,” she said embracing her own faults. “I didn’t understand how putting myself in solo danger affected you. I can understand why that scares you so much—and that sometimes I think I take you too much for granted, too.”

 He half laughed. “After so much time together, why do I feel like we’re relearning everything about each other.”

“Maybe because we aren’t the same people we were even a few months ago, and we both want different things than we did before,” she said sadly. “Sometimes I think I’d give anything to go back, but we can’t.” Finally, she could say the words that ripped her apart. “I don’t want to be your _parabatai_ anymore Julian,” she confessed.

At first, he looked at her blankly, but then he lost all color, his skin turning waxy and grey. “Are you breaking up with me?” he asked in complete shock.

“We never should have been _parabatai_ in the first place. I sometimes think that we’re _too_ close—especially in the way we can read each other’s minds and emotions. It’s not like I want to hold things back from you, but I want my privacy too. Sometimes I feel like we’re so blended as a pair that I sometimes lose a little bit of _me_ in the us. And the power? What we built here? It felt awesome. Like we could even go back to Edom and remake that world, or others that have fallen into demon hands. But, it’s too precarious.” _I don’t want this kind of power._

She’d never said the words to him before because it felt disloyal to him, a rejection of him. But, she understood what _parabatai_ were _meant_ to be now and she thought that in a different world, one where things hadn’t gone so terribly wrong because of Valentine and Sebastian, that Cristina was the one she should have been _parabatai_ with.

“I know,” he said surprising her. “When Magnus severed the magic binding our memories, I remembered things from the Trial by Water. Jem said the effects of the ritual were so we could each see our true selves without the normal barriers we use to hide behind. I remember kissing you Emma—and you kissed me back—and I knew then, that I couldn’t ever be your _parabatai_ —that I’d have to figure out another way for the Clave not to send you away.”

“But you didn’t remember because of what Magnus’ spell. I know, Julian…I was there too.” She hated thinking of it, not because of kissing Julian, but because she wasn’t strong enough to pull out of the hallucination on her own. It made her feel weak and unworthy. But he’d just admitted to his own weaknesses. But, they didn’t need to be _parabatai_ to shore each other up when one faltered.

“Everything might have been different,” Julian acknowledged.

“Yeah,” she agreed. “I don’t know why things happen the way that they do—but if we hadn’t been _parabatai_ I think you would have died from the crossbolt Diego shot through you. And I don’t know if we would have been strong enough to defeat Malcolm, or rescue Tavvy. Actually, I _know_ he would have killed me if that Endurance rune hadn’t protected me. And you wanted a sanctuary for the kids, and now there is this place.”

He leaned against the table watching her inspect the iron weapons. “But you still don’t want the power.”

“No,” she said decisively. “You’re the one good with quotes. What’s the one on power and corruption?”

“Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely,” Julian said.

She was quiet for a long time. “We may be immune from the curse, Julian, but we’re not immune from that. It would be a mistake to think we could always control something like that. We can’t ever use it again, Julian.”

“I know,” and she felt through their bond that he meant those words, agreed with her entirely. She felt his resolve, that he’d come to the same conclusion. “Does that mean that you still want to look for a way to break the bond?”

She nodded. “Not with what the Seelie Queen is offering—but this is too big for us.”

“And you’re not just saying that so you can escape me?” he asked with forced mirth.

She laughed at that. “I am still _so_ mad at you. And I think it’s going to take some time before I can trust you all the way again. But, I don’t ever want to leave you, either. We’ve never given up on each other, so I think we’ll somehow find a way to work through this, too.” She felt his whole body sigh in relief, like a balloon being pricked, all the tension suddenly flowing out of him.

“I agree with you on breaking the bond,” he said surprising her. It was the last thing she expected to hear from him with all the, _I will bind you however way I can_ , speech from earlier.

“I thought you wouldn’t like the idea.”

“There are other ideas I like less,” Julian said “The Silent Brothers and Iron Sisters are near immortal and I think that’s a side effect of this power. I don’t want to be like Tessa and live forever, only to watch all my brothers and sisters, all our children grow old and die one day. That to me would be a curse almost worse than the one we’ve been trying to break.”

She looked up to him her eyes widening in fear, “That hadn’t occurred to me. You think that’s a real possibility?”

“Look around you, Emma. Haven’t you learned anything is possible?” Anything was truly possible, from creating worlds to knowing how to bring the dead back to life. But some things came with prices too high to pay.

He pulled her into his arms and she didn’t feel the need to pull away, or be angry with him anymore. “Julian Blackthorn, I love you,” she said kissing him with all the freedoms love allowed. _I love you more than starlight._

~~~

“Do you have it?” Tavvy whispered.

Julian solemnly placed his palm over his chest. Under his gear on a corded leather necklace, the golden tip Angel’s feather Tavvy found rested over his heart—touching his _parabatai_ rune. While his heart continually broke to pieces, it was a balm.

“Livvy will protect you while you’re gone,” Tavvy said. His eyes were round and determined, a decidedly old look for a boy still so young.

“I know she will,” Julian said, giving his youngest brother another fierce hug. Julian marveled at the difference in Tavvy. He’d been terrified for his brother’s reaction to this latest separation. He was expecting tears and hopelessness, instead he had the quiet confidence of faith that they’d all be coming back. Julian thought that it might be himself that was more upset to leave Tavvy behind.

Laelaps had led Tavvy to find six angel’s feather—he’d so fervently believed they were a gift from Livvy, that his belief was contagious. One for each of the remaining Blackthorns. And Julian didn’t doubt. None of his siblings did. His sister was one of the fiercest protectors he had ever known, and if anyone could find a way to help her family from Heaven, it was Livvy.

They’d decided to keep it a family secret between them—Blackthorn family business. They hadn’t even told Magnus, Tessa or Jem. While Emma was in the Armory he’d quickly fashioned Tavvy an ankle bracelet, gently folding the feather in the leather cords. He’d added the sea glass from his ruined bracelet—so part of Julian would stay with his younger brother too. He’d made a necklace for Dru where she could keep it next to Livvy’s locket. Ty had reverently taken his, not wanting Julian do anything—it was clear he had his own ideas. Helen had woven it into the braids of her hair. Julian thought Mark was considering growing his hair long again, so he could do the same, but instead placed his beneath a copper hammered arm cuff. He wore it on his dominant arm, his archery arm, and Julian thought it quite possible he’d never miss his aim again.  

The Blackthorn family had gathered together to say goodbye. Julian knew enough now to portal directly into the Seelie Court—he’d be going with Emma, Mark, Cristina and Kieran. Magnus, Jem and Tessa would be returning to the New York Institute.

Gwyn was escorting Helen and Aline back to the wards on Wrangel Island, though Magnus promised to link a permanent portal between there and Los Angeles, so both women could travel home whenever they wished. Helen had _loved_ flying with the Hunt, and she needed to survey the ley lines from above so she’d be able to make adjustments for more accurate maps. It was a perfect excuse to ride with Gwyn often, though she did have to promise not to interfere with the Hunt. Gwyn almost seemed anxious about the promise, like he was scared of Helen. He’d asked Diana, and she’d whispered back, “I did not know the Fae’s version of the Valkyrie—it makes sense why he is wary of your sister. There is more for you to learn Julian, for you don’t know everything. Remember that when you are in Faerie.”

And the younger ones would be left in the care of an actual competent adult. It was the best he could hope for.

“Can you undo the exile ceremony?” Julian asked Jem. “For Helen. Most of her marks have been stripped, she cannot even light a seraph blade to fight—she is a Shadowhunter punished for a crime she did not commit, and she needs to be able to defend herself properly.”

Helen jerked her head in surprise. Did she think he was going to leave her behind with her being anything less than at full strength? “I would do it myself,” Julian said, “But I don’t know the ritual, and to be honest I’m afraid that if I try to do it myself I may use too much power and hurt her. Likewise, Kit needs the protection ritual—and it would be good to know, so we can do these things ourselves.”

Jem was cautious in answering. “I can teach you,” he said giving in. “But, understand Julian that you and your family still need other people, the outside world.”

“I’m not saying we don’t,” Julian answered. “But I don’t wish to be dependent if there’s a way to be free. And if the Silent Brothers and Iron Sisters shun the Shadowhunters in this new Alliance then I’m willing to do whatever I can to make sure they have the same protections as any other Shadowhunter of the Clave would have.”

“Do you agree to further warlock training when you return?” Magnus asked determined to get a commitment from him.

“Of course. It’s necessary.” He was serious about getting as much training as they were willing to give him.

Magnus and Jem gave each other a long look, holding a conversation between them that made Julian wonder if Jem was still capable of mind speech. In another universe, the two might have made good _parabatai_ , if there was ever such a thing between a non-Shadowhunter warlock and Shadowhunter.

It was a simple procedure where Jem waved a stele over Helen’s rune of exile. He added two lines in a swirl and Julian witnessed the lines loosening the rune from her skin. He then started at one corner and the rune stuck to the stele. As he rolled it over the rune, it peeled off her skin like a sticker coming off a book. She hissed and tried to hide how painful it was, leaning on Aline, squeezing her hand so the whites of her knuckles showed. Finally, it was fully removed.

Julian understood then the full ramifications of what Jem was allowing him to see. This was how a Shadowhunter was stripped of their Marks.

Helen sagged against Aline relieved that it was over. Aline set a seraph blade in her palm and Helen raised it, whispering _Jophiel._ It flamed to life enough for Julian to see the smiling tears reflected from her eyes. He was glad for his sister.

Tavvy ran up to Helen, with a wobbly lip. “You’ll be back soon?”

Julian’s sore heart beat with a tinier thread of happiness as he saw Helen and Tavvy together. He’d been worried that Helen thought Tavvy might hate her. And he didn’t. He was just young—his emotions and grief overruling everything. Julian had a decade on him and could still relate. “I can come and go often, as can you. And if I can find a way to move my work here, I will,” she assured him wrapping his little body into her arms. He’d allowed Aline a hug too, even though he was more shy about it.

“And you brothers,” she said turning to Mark and Julian. “Two different Courts. You will take care.”

They each nodded, in a final round of hugs. Hopefully, the next time they saw each other, this would be over one way or another. Julian just hoped it would be sooner rather than later.

~~~

Jem found Tessa in the dining room. Afternoon light filter through the window highlighting dust motes in the air. There was a heavy mahogany dining table that anchored the room, a deep hunter green frieze wallpaper framing portraits of the past. In contrast to the modernity of the Institute, this room reminded him of home, of the familiar and comforting age of the Victorian Era. An elegant refinement of a bygone era where though at times it was somewhat oppressive in its conservatism and strict social etiquettes, there was also a level civility and courteousness he found sorely lacking in today’s society. 

 Along the wall were portraits of the past, of people that Tessa had lived alongside and loved through the past decades. Jesse, Adelaide, Tristan, although he winced to see Tatiana. They’d hadn’t visited Marjorie recently, her last living grandchild—Lucie’s daughter, and he knew she dreaded it. It was another goodbye to come, and Livvy’s memorial was already difficult enough.

It was a topic they’d edged around, never quite discussing, preferring to live with the joys of everyday life with love and complete gratitude for getting to live a life together neither one of them thought they’d ever have. But it always loomed in the background—his mortality, and the day coming when she would have to watch him grow old and eventually die, just as she had done for Will.

He was deeply worried for what it would mean to her to have both of them gone from her life.

“There was a painting of Benedict Lightwood downstairs in their storage rooms,” Jem said hoping to distract her from the sorrow, “He looked different when not a worm.”

He was rewarded by a giggle that made her seem sixteen again. “Poor Rupert, I always wondered what he was like—how Tatiana might have lived, if he had too,” she said on a sigh.

Another Blackthorn killed so young.

Jem wrapped his arms around her, traced her cheek with his fingers. “This has been a difficult day for both of us,” he acknowledged, “But, you look so much better, like you’ve been healed—I’m very relieved of that.” When Julian had asked her to shapeshift Jem had not wanted her too. She’d suffered from the warlock sickness these past months and he feared she wasn’t strong enough. Yet she faced the challenge in the same with she faced everything—and using her power hadn’t weakened her, in fact, it had reenergized her.

The deep shadows that had made her look perpetually exhausted had faded, the wan pallor of grey in her complexion had returned to normal health. It had happened almost immediately, that recovery, when Magnus had brought them through the portal to this extraordinary world Julian and Emma had built together.

Seeing Tessa sicken had been terrifying, to watch as she slowly faded away before his eyes. He had a new sense of empathy for what he’d asked Will and the others of when he insisted they give up looking for a cure. Jem would _never_ have given up on finding a way to restore Tessa to health—he’d never fully appreciated how difficult it was to watch one you love deteriorate and feel utterly helpless to do anything but care for them.

She nodded. “I feel normal again. I don’t know if that will change when I cross back to the outside world. Here is a sanctuary.”

“We could stay,” Jem said. “With the Alliance, I can be a Shadowhunter again.”

“You never stopped being one. We will come back,” she said decisively. “They know now that if they need help they can come to us—I’m just so sorry that we didn’t understand how alone they’ve been up till now, that this was happening to them—that we believed Malcolm,” she said bitterly. “We might have made different decisions.”

“Kit will need us—we still need to tell him about why he is in so much danger,” Jem said.

“Today was about Livvy and even Andrew and Arthur—the Blackthorns and the Carstairs. Let them have this time together,” Tessa said. “Besides you need to come back often to give Ty violin lessons,” she said with one of her secret smiles. He felt a small burst of pleasure at the idea of giving Ty lessons. It was something he always wanted to do, be more of a mentor or uncle to these beautiful children that grew up before his eyes, but always unable to—first because of his obligations to the Silent Brothers, then in his need to secure Kit’s safety.

And he still very much wanted to have children with Tessa. It was another thing they hadn’t discussed, but needed to, for although someday he would leave her, he could leave her with family and a living piece of him. And he was very selfish; and perhaps even jealous of Will that he’d gotten those experiences with James and Lucie.

Their children would not be alone, or ostracized the way the Herondale children were, not with Jace and Clary and the Lightwoods or with the Blackthorns. He suspected there was about to be a whole new generation to be born on the horizon.

“Come on, I want to see if I can find something,” Tessa said pulling him out of his thoughts and leading through to the basement hallways.

“Was this place always so big, or did Julian and Emma add onto it with their magic? You seem to know where you are going.” Jem said.

“If Julian had told me it was Andrew the glasses belonged to, I’m not sure I would have agreed to the change, at least not in front of him, where the others could see. He knew that and tricked me. He’s very subtle, but I think Will would be proud of how he strategizes.” He couldn’t tell if she was as approving. “Will is dancing wherever he is, to know that the girl Julian loves is a Carstairs,” she said wistfully.

Jem laughed. “I have sometimes wondered if he is beside himself watching events unfold—I would think he’d want to do everything he could to come back and join us. He’d have hated to miss this. I told him once a long time ago, that our lives were forever bound together because we were _parabatai_. On the wheel of life, we would rise together and fall together. We barely had any time together, and I now feel that we are somehow out of sync,” his laughter turning to a grim sadness.

It was easier for him to talk about Will now. He still missed him unbearably, but he was now used to the constant ache.

“Here we are,” she said coming up to a closed door. When she opened it, there was a layer of puffed dust that greeted them, along with rows of shelves. It was a storeroom. Tessa closed her eyes, suddenly looking very anxious.

“Tessa?” Jem said gently. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” she said, spine stiffening is a sort of determination. “When Andrew moved here, he brought the bulk of Blackthorn legacy with him, not just the Black Volume,” she said revealing that she’d learned far more about Andrew Blackthorn than just what Julian had wanted to know. “When he realized you were Jem Carstairs, I had a memory of him organizing all this.” She waved her hand at the shelves. There was painting propped against the storage shelves, some old weapons, unopened crates—it was the random paraphernalia of what was typically found in a cluttered attic. She was searching through one of the shelves, “I’m just hoping it’s still here.”

“What are you looking for?” Jem asked curious and intrigued.

She didn’t answer, but stilled. Her hands pulled something from the shelf, and for an odd moment Jem wondered if he were in the middle of a dream. She blew the dust of the top, and he coughed, taking the trunk from her.

He couldn’t breathe, the shock of the discovery overwhelming him. It was the chest his mother had given him—carved on the lid was the goddess Kwan Yin. A goddess of his homeland, who gave comfort to the suffering. “Jem?” Tessa asked gently.

“How?” his asked, his voice strangling on the words.

“Will had given it to Lucie before he died. I hadn’t even noticed it was gone until I went back to Herondale Manor years later. She left it in the care of her descendants. I don’t think any of the children knew it was here,” she said sadly.

It might have been lost forever. That was the saddest part of history—what survived and what sometimes didn’t. Some things were as unfair as life itself. And sometimes he felt like fate stepped in to help correct it, when things went wrong. Like now.

“Open it,” she whispered.

They sat together on the cold concrete floor. She’d peeked into Andrew’s mind, knew what was in the box. She thought she might be more nervous than Jem. He opened the lid and stifled a breath. A warm smell of yin fen infused the interior of the box, and the contents.

He hadn’t smelled the drug since before the Brotherhood, and the sickening cloying scent rushed to the forefront of a thousand memories. A bound leather book sat on top. In gold leaf the title stood out, _The Last Hours_ , by Lucie Ella Herondale.

Tessa’s fingers lovingly stroked the book. “She wrote this before she married Jesse. She’d often lock herself in her room—she’d get so angry at Will for his disapproval of Jesse, and spend hours writing this. She loved books, like Will and I did, and wanted to be a writer. She told me she didn’t want to forget a moment of that time. She never published it though—there were too many secrets. But Will had this copy specially made for her as a wedding gift and peace offering. Jem, she’d be so proud of all the Blackthorns.”

Jem wrapped an arm around her as they shared their memories together.

“There should be more,” Tessa said plucking the book up, and holding it to her chest, a mother holding something precious of a long lost child to her heart. Below, there was a neat stack of letters. They were addressed to him: _Jem Carstairs_. All in Will’s handwriting. 

~~~

Tessa had found Drusilla in one of her favorite places, the Institute’s library. Tavvy was seated at a table, an array of artist materials from crayons and colored pencils to chalks, among an array of colored paper. There was also a stack of books. On top was _A Treasury of Tales for Nephilim_. Lucie seemed to be everywhere in this room. She smiled at Tavvy with encouragement as he went back to work and pulled Drusilla aside to a quiet alcove.

“Today has been a very busy day; and a sad day,” she said, still a little unsure if this was the right decision. “I’ve not had much of a chance to meet you, and I would like to change that.”

“I remember going to your wedding,” Dru said. “Julian said that you were our great-grandmother, however many times over.”

“I’m sorry you could not remember sooner,” Tessa said. “When Magnus bound Julian and Emma’s memories some of yours had to be as well. But, I’m glad you were there, and I’m glad you have that memory now.”

Dru still looked so confused. “How have you lived so long without all the people you loved?” she asked. It might have sounded rude, but the grief in her eyes told the story she was desperate to understand how one lived again when others you love didn’t. Unfortunately, that was something she had too much experience on, and not much advice.

“I used to write letters to my husband Will all the time,” Tessa said, lowering her voice to a whisper so as to not disturb Tavvy. “I stayed with Magnus for some years after Will died. First it was Paris. Sometimes I could almost lie to myself and believe Will was only across the pond. I would write him letters, telling him of my adventures with Magnus. I kept them all, and in a way they became a diary of sorts,” she confided.

“It is not easy relearning life without someone you love, but every now and then I would go back to remind myself of the past, and I could see as the years passed how I had changed too. My Will had eyes the color of pansies. I had forgotten that until I reread the words. Now, I plant them in window boxes every spring and every morning I search out the bluest that remind me of the exact shade of his eyes. I have a flower in a vase at our table for morning tea—and I feel like a part of him is still with us, because the memory of how much I loved him is too. Where I used to cry, I now smile in fondness. Not being with him still hurts, it is an ache, that separation that will never go away, but I am more glad to have had that time and that life with him,” she said.

“Jem is mortal now,” Dru said cautiously. “That means someday you will be without both of them. How can you stand that?’

“He is,” she agreed. “Sometimes death makes life richer. We appreciate every moment of living in a way we wouldn’t otherwise. I never take a single moment that we have together for granted.” A frown marred her brow. “And being a warlock means I don’t age, but it doesn’t guarantee me true immortality. We can be killed. In fact, I know of quite a few that have died, Malcolm included.” 

“What happened with Julian—will that happen to us too? Will I get a warlock talent too?” she asked hopefully.

Tessa frowned. “I don’t know,” she said in all honesty. “But it is good for you to know your history, and if anything strange begins to happen, to you or any of your brothers or Helen, please know that you can come to me. Jem and I will be available more often—if you need to talk with either one of us.” She hoped Dru felt the sincerity of her words.

“Could you turn into my mom? Or Livvy?” Dru asked in a small voice.

The question shouldn’t have been unexpected, yet it still came as a shock. Julian had already pushed boundaries, she was unsurprised the others would wish to as well.  “No, I won’t,” she said firmly. “And you know why, Drusilla,” Tessa challenged. “I can temporarily shapechange into a person, but I couldn’t ever truly _be_ Eleanor or Livvy. And that is what you truly want.”

She nodded looking defeated. “Do _you_ think our family is cursed?” she asked.

“I think in every family there is joy and sorrow. Unfortunately, you’ve seen more sorrow than joy in your life, and it is easy to feel cursed when that is so. And there will be more challenges to come, there always are. Truthfully, I’m uncertain if the Black Magic from the book has had undue influence on your family, but Andrew gave us a clue. I spoke with Magnus before he left, and if Julian is able to find the book, then I think we may know how to bind the magic back so it doesn’t continue to leak into this world.”

She nodded as if agreeing the adults had it well in hand, but not quite believing it.

“It’s weird having more family,” she admitted.

Tessa took a deep breath—it was a bit terrifying to let go of the past. “I’ve been told that you like books, as do I.” A small leather bound book appeared in her hands like magic, and she gently placed it in her hands. “This was written by my daughter Lucie—and tells more of your family history. I think she would have liked for you to have this.”

Dru stared down at the book, the embossed golden title glowed almost orange in the setting sun. It read: _The Last Hours_.


	24. Epilogue

Julian was barefoot on the stairway landing. The stairway split here, the right leading to the Blackthorn family wing, the left to the training areas and other more public Shadowhunter rooms. It was where Emma had run through with Tavvy and Dru in their desperate escape from Sebastian.

Looking down was the foyer and the Institute entryway doors—from this vantage his mural would be seen by every person who walked through the front door.  The wall turned to adamas, became a twenty foot by thirty-foot canvas.

The first few days had been an act of frustration. Nothing stuck to the stone: paints, even oils beaded into raindrops that slid down to the floor—he couldn’t even get charcoal to hold for the initial blocking of the fresco. It was then, he remembered himself as a child being caught by Helen as candlewax melted down his fingers. A secret of the Greeks—helped along by boxing up the last of Arthur’s work. The Parthenon had been constructed of marble and meticulously painted thousands of years ago, in the lost art of painted applications of wax.

He searched for malachite and azurite to grind into mineral pigments to add to wax for intense and very life like blues and greens. Cinnabar and henna were pigments for red, ocher for yellow, burned bone and vine crushed for black. He melted metals of gold, silver, copper and bronze for shadowy reflections that made the colors alive and moving with the changing angle of light.

He didn’t know how long he’d been here, an old satellite dish used as a furnace as he practiced some basic warlock magic to fire the coals to melt down the small batches of wax and metals. It was a bit like cooking, adding the pigments like a spice to flavor the paint. He had to work fast, constantly wincing as tiny bubbles of hot wax burned him like the spluttering of bacon grease from a frying pan.

Tarps with burnt holes littered the floor while he worked around the continuous climb up and down the scaffolding, rushing to get a few brush strokes in before the wax hardened to unusability.

Once he began this project, it had completely absorbed him. He knew Emma had pulled his family aside and told them to be patient and not to disturb him as he worked himself into exhaustion. The underpainting took a solid week alone. He’d finally given into sleep, the tarp and stone floor his bed.

Emma had found him then, and pulled him up and helped him to his own bed. She’d been there, in the wings silently watching and worried, but not interfering. Their _parabatai_ bond cut—the familiar feeling of living within each other’s minds and souls was gone.

He felt alone in the world, even though he knew she was still there. He absently rubbed the scarred edges of his burned off _parabatai_ mark. A permanent brand for something that no longer existed.

Emma forced him to look at her, and it was then he noticed the deep shadows in her eyes. When they returned from Faerie she insisted on claiming her old room and sleeping away from him, while he had wanted to move into his parents’ old room—together.

“You’re not sleeping either,” he said quietly.

She shook her head somberly, and bit her lower lip like she was ready to cry. He pulled her into his arms like she was the one needing the comfort. “Old times?” she whispered back. It was her way of asking to sleep by his side again, for their closeness in keeping the bad dreams away—both waking and sleeping. They had plenty of new nightmares now.

He took her hand and led her back to his bedroom, a tightness slowly unraveling inside him. She had said she didn’t want to be his _parabatai_. And she wasn’t. And while free, they didn’t know how to be together, at least not in the same way. Everything had been different since they returned—and not for the better.

The flashbacks continued to seize him—the feeling of Emma dying—gone from him forever, the burning of his rune to where he thought he’d be burned alive from the inside out. He’d screamed Emma’s name the same way he’d done when she’d faced off the tsunami in the hallucinations. He’d kept the Angel’s feather over his heart. And through it he’d felt the Heavenly Fire, a cooling salve to his burns.

He kept reaching for Emma through their bond, and there was _nothing_. She couldn’t be dead—not after everything they’d been through. He didn’t want to be cooled and healed by an angel, even if it was his sister, if that meant he couldn’t follow Emma into death. Visceral and instinctive his need to be with her, he fought against the healing.

Chaos and fighting around him, a haze of iron smoke, blood slicked hands—the last thing he remembered was Mark rushing toward him to protect him, as Cristina gave them cover. Gwyn was there with his army fighting in the skies above, as he blasted the echoing horn of Wild Hunt. His insides turned to water.

As the feather Tavvy found protected him through the worst of it, Cortana’s sympathetic magic with Emma had protected her. Kieran seeing the fire jump from the _parabatai_ rune on Julian’s chest had immediately gone in search of Emma and brought her unconscious, clinging to life in her own right, to Julian’s side.

Julian and Emma had awoken to each other, still in the middle of the chaos of battle. It was a flaming arrow that landed between them that galvanized them to the understanding—oh, shit we better get up and fight or we really will be dead. And their training kicked in enough that even though they still couldn’t feel each other, they _knew_ where each other was, were able to still fight as a team.

Magnus had traversed Faerie to bring them the ruby skeptron seal—and they’d finally contained the billowing escape of hell from unfurling into their world. With the book rendered inert, Annabel’s link to the necromancy was severed, and she was finally rendered mortal enough to kill.

Half of Faerie was gone.

He opened the door to his parent’s old bedroom, relieved for the normalcy that help stave off those memories. His old room had seemed a kid’s room, even with the unsettling mural on his wall—so he’d finally closed the door on that chapter in his life, choosing to move into the adult suites of family wing. Boxes of his stuff were stacked and half open, things strewn about as he haphazardly tried to find things.

This lack of organization was very unlike him, but the fresco was absorbing all his attention. He hadn’t fought the therapeutic obsession to give homage to Livvy in the form of a mural—those hours of focus allowing him a tiny respite from the constant ache of not feeling Emma all the time. He’d hoped Emma would have chosen to move in with him, but this was the first time she’d given any kind of overture that she was interested in him again.

He rubbed the hands over his face realizing how disheveled he was. He hadn’t showered in a couple days, had that stubble that he prayed she still found hot. He smelled of wax and burned things. Still, he’d sell his soul (not really though—stumbling over the thought of needing to include that idiom in Ty’s vocabulary) for a night just to _sleep_ next to her. And he hadn’t been sleeping—maybe tonight he could. He grunted in bitter laughter knowing that was a joke too—he’d spend the entire night just watching her sleep. ‘Old times’ indeed.

“I need to talk to you about something,” Emma said a little nervously.

Julian felt himself go into freefall, his heart hammering, his toes curling in dread. Nothing good ever came from those words. She moved closer as if sensing his distress. How was it for her not to feel him anymore, too?

“I’m not pregnant,” she said rushing through the words as if glad to have them out.

Julian sat there dumbstruck. So, it was to be another kind of fate’s cruel blow. He’d gambled on the chance, and probably lost her because of it. He felt himself nod in acknowledgement, numb and not knowing what else to say.

“When we were _parabatai_ you felt the rush of seraphic magic boiling through our veins. I think of what new life is, like a tiny spark or an ember—or the first flame that needs to be sheltered. While were _parabatai_ I don’t think something so new could have stood up to that kind power. There have never been any stories of _parabatai_ who loved each other having a child together. I think that’s the reason why,” she said. It was obvious she’d given this a lot of thought.

Mouth dry, in a hushed reverent sadness he asked, “Do you think you were pregnant, that you miscarried?”

Somber eyes stared back at him. “No, I don’t,” she said. “I don’t know if there is a way to be completely sure, but I think I would have known if I was.”

She looked as sad as he felt. She sat next to him on the bed and sighed. “I’m disappointed too.”

His eyebrows arched in surprise. “You were so mad.”

“I was, and still am, a little—more mad that you didn’t talk to me about it, that you didn’t let me make the decision with you.” He already knew that. “This should have been a relief, but it felt like I lost something, too—a possibility that’s gone now. It wasn’t something I was thinking about, but something I maybe wanted just as much as you did. I just didn’t know it.”

“I’m so sorry, Em,” he whispered. He cleared his throat, “Will you let me hold you?”

A frown formed on her forehead. “Julian, you never have to ask that,” she said as he enfolded her into his embrace. “I mean things have been different since the _parabatai_ magic was severed, but we’re still you and me. We love each other—that’s our real bond.”

He felt such relief hearing those words from her. She kissed him gently, telling him with soft lips and acceptance that he could touch her and love her—that he hadn’t ruined everything.

“The timing wasn’t right before. We were _parabatai_ ,” she hesitated then. “We weren’t ready then any more than we were ready to play house together when we were twelve. But, things are different now,” she said in a firmer voice. Mischievous brown eyes captured his. “The timing _is_ right now, at least according to the mundane rhythm method.”

Julian felt the breath knocked out him. Normally those kinds of punches were because horrible things were happening around him. He’d never had it happen because he’d been given the gift of everything he ever wanted. It was like the difference between tears of sorrow and tears of joy—both overwhelming for two totally different emotions.

He must not have answered her soon enough because she suddenly looked shy and unsure. “It’s kind of terrifying, this idea of me being a mom,” she admitted. “You’re already an awesome dad.”

He couldn’t help himself, pulling her into a hard kiss, devouring her lips, pulling her close so nothing stood between them. “By, the Angel, Emma,” he whispered into her hair smelling the sunshine and soap.

She grinned up at him, her eyes bright with hope and desire. “So, that’s a yes?” she asked.

~~~

The first morning he woke up with Emma in her arms she’d been annoyed. “If I do get pregnant, I want to be married to the father of my child.”

_Was that a proposal?_ “Sooner rather than later,” she’d insisted, patting his leg. Like he was going to argue with her. So, he’d arranged a family gathering so they could announce their engagement. Blackthorn family business that for the first time wasn’t about crisis and chaos, or grief. If he had his way he’d like to just marry her tonight, with only his family present—but Emma wanted more. She wanted to shout her joy to the world in an actual wedding. She wanted all the folks at the New York Institute, then Gwyn, then members of the Alliance—the list was growing exponentially.

After that night with Emma, Julian been at peace in a way he didn’t think he’d ever had been before. He’d gone back to the painting, swirling layers upon layers of wax, adding dimensions, fine tuning details. He’d added a lot of gold today, the last of the finishing touches immortalizing his sister.

He was supposed to be normal now, at least as normal as someone got that was both Shadowhunter and Warlock. Even now, as he highlighted and wove the colors on the mural together he could feel the flow of magic in his strokes. He’d always felt it, but hadn’t recognized it as something more.

In the past, he couldn’t stop himself from all the lying. Now he couldn’t stop himself from telling the world the truth about Livvy. Her spirit, her love, her sacrifice. She was a protectress—always.

Gold in her curling hair and eyelashes for highlights, bronze to the backdrop on the sky—outrageously vivid blue for the ocean behind her with silver whitecaps of the churning sea. A kaleidoscope of blue and green turned verdigris for Blackthorn eyes, that looked glowingly bright and defiantly alive.

Livvy’s wings unfolded behind her, the detail fine enough that even now he wanted to reach out to feel the downy feathers between his fingertips. The hard gold edges tipping the wings were blades, warning against the urge to do just that. Livvy was gorgeous, a fierce and protective presence with a look of utter heavenly glory and honor, that would greet everyone as they passed through the Institute’s front doors. An avenging angel, his sister dared: _Think again before you try to harm my family._

Today he’d completed the last of the finishing touches—all that was left was the cleanup. He was proud to have the mural of his beautiful sister, simply titled _Livia,_ finally finished. His heart was a canvas, and he’d told the story of his love for his sister. Footfall and rapid steps warned him of a welcomed interruption.          

“Wow!” Dru said, looking at her sister with a critical eye. “That is the most amazing thing I think I’ve ever seen,” she said with open awe.

“You’re sneaking a peak. I was going to show to everybody after dinner,” Julian said.

“Is _this_ your big announcement?” she asked him, snooping for clues.

“Nice try,” Julian said smiling. He and Emma were announcing their engagement tonight, but Dru would have to wait to hear of it along with everybody else. Mark and Cristina (and probably Kieran—those three were stuck together like glue) were arriving from Faerie for a Blackthorn family dinner, something Julian hoped would become a regular tradition.

Adaon was as enthusiastic about wearing the crown as Kieran, but the crown and throne had fallen to him.  He did not want it, and Gwyn did not think he was likely to survive for long—even with over half the Unseelie Court being wiped out. Kieran had pledged to stay, offering his brother Adaon protection. Then there was Mark: his stubborn and loyal brother had refused to leave Kieran—at least Cristina was with them, as she continued her role as an Ambassador, simply moving her position to the Unseelie Court. Extracting them from the courts for a family dinner had not been easy.

Though the Unseelie King made it his custom to kill his daughters, Gwyn had heard rumors about a daughter surviving. He was convinced she’d make an excellent queen, though gave no details as to the why of that. He was busy trying to track down an impossible woman to find. Jem and Tessa were aiding him, because in another mystery, the woman was also rumored to have information on the missing Herondale line. Kit was eager for answers and explanations, and Julian couldn’t blame him for that one bit.

“What’s up?” he asked Dru, hoping to distract her from asking anymore questions.

“Tavvy’s dog cornered and almost ate some of the wild Fae that have been hanging around here,” Dru said with some annoyance. Julian smiled to himself picturing the disaster unfold, readying himself to play mediator.

When he and Emma had gone to Faerie they’d stumbled across a gathering of Wild Fae. They had been fleeing their ravaged lands, trying to stay ahead of the blight. They’d had no associations with either court, and were simply the unfortunate souls of collateral damage in the King and Queen’s war. Julian had made them a deal. He had promised to give them sanctuary and a home in this new creation of land in exchange for badly needed information about the Unseelie King and his court. There was also the contingency that if it came to a battle they would fight alongside him. They were as desperate as Julian in their own way, close to the edge of watching all their people die—so they’d agreed.

They were supposed to be exploring and staying to the northern edges of Blackthorn land, but it didn’t stop some of them from venturing close to the Institute. Some were just plain curious, some were gossipy and mistrustful, and some just enjoyed leaving random gifts for unsuspecting Blackthorns to find.

Julian had been especially worried about Tavvy who kept disappearing to go exploring. He’d brought back his latest find of diamonds that were littering a beach. Julian was instantly reminded of Malcolm’s quote from his journals: _Sometimes, someone you have known all your life becomes no longer familiar to you, but strange in a marvelous way, as if you have discovered a beach you have been visiting all your life is made not of sand but diamonds*_   Between that and the stately oak tree with the blooming fruit of golden acorns, (where messages could in fact be sent), the vines of adamas thorns that wound their way through and pierced the Silent Brothers and Iron Sisters—there were ten thousand other things that lurked deep in his mind, or his subconscious, or in his dreams. He had no idea how many of those subtle inklings had surfaced into the runic magic in the creation of this place. He had a very dark side to him, and just because they hadn’t seen any outward lurking of danger didn’t mean it didn’t exist.

They’d thought him benevolent in allowing the Wild Fae a home here, then allowing in some of the werewolf packs escaping Idris. They’d thought he’d done it as a barter to gain their loyalty, and while true it wasn’t the only reason. He rarely did anything for a single reason.

This new land could be dangerous. It was designed to protect the Blackthorn Family, but there could always be unintended consequences—this place was so vast it would take time to map and fully explore. He was willing to allow the influx of Downworlders, who had been duly warned of possible unknown dangers, to be the first one to explorer of this place— But he was still ruthless when it came to his family. It was better for them to run across and chart the knots of darker magic than it was for Tavvy to come across something unsuspecting.

He should maybe feel guilty about the sentiment, but he hadn’t lied to any of the Downworlders, and they all seemed rather eager to have a _place_ that perhaps hunted them, rather than Shadowhunters. The Wild Fae and the Werewolves felt that was something in their wheelhouse to manage, so he’d given them their blessing with a shrug, and Fae went North and the Werewolves went west. They still had a huge daily dose of sun, so as of yet the Vampires hadn’t been knocking on his door.

Most Downworlders, he’d been informed from Kit’s lingering connections with the Shadow Market were positively terrified of the name Julian Blackthorn—the boy who wrecked the Clave. Then there was Emma with Cortana. They were having a contest as to who was the scarier of the two—and rather than fearing them, more and more were coming to him in hopes of protection. 

Laelaps considered this ongoing game of catch with the Wild Fae quite fun. “Helen’s taking care of it though, so you can finish up,” Dru said. “Kit did volunteer you to be in charge of the grill though, since that’s all you’ve been doing hunched over this make shift furnace for the last few weeks,” she said toeing the satellite dish.

_Weeks?_ That couldn’t have been right.

Julian relaxed. Helen said she would be willing to run the Institute and while he wasn’t completely ready to give up that task, he assigned her co-head. But it was nice that he didn’t need to be the one to handle _every_ emergency.

Helen had helped stabilize the wards as best she could, but there wasn’t much more she could do to shore them up; so she’d returned home with Aline. It was believed that as the earth continued its own natural healing process, the wards would heal along with them—but that would take time. Their world could remain at heightened risk for demon invasions for decades to come.

Having Helen home was a blessing, and gave Julian a break from dealing with all the pressures on his own. He had time to do this painting, extra time to spend with Emma and his family, time for his first vacation—his honeymoon. He was taking Emma on that road trip he’d always dreamed about.  The open road with no obligations or responsibilities except what they had for each other. Tavvy had missed him, but been a trouper, so he was easier about leaving him in Diana’s care so he could have the respite of one on one time with Emma.

And he would need the help in the months to come.

Dru couldn’t stop staring at the painting. “She looks so real, almost like I expect her to be breathing,” Dru said pensively. “Like she’s going to walk out into real life—like she’s something more now. I think we should rename the Institute after her. The Livia Institute. I think she’s the protector here now.”

“That’s a nice thought, Dru,” Julian said putting a comforting arm on her shoulder. “She had dreams of her own, you know. She told me that one day she wanted to head an Institute herself. I know she would want to be here herself, but maybe she needed to be somewhere else right now.”

“Do you still have her feather?” Dru asked hesitantly.

Julian had been deliberately vague about what had happened in Faerie. Dru was smart enough to know that meant things were a lot more dangerous than he’d led her to believe.

“I used it in Faerie,” Julian hedged. “I think it was what kept me and Emma alive through the separation of the _parabatai_ bond. I think we might have died otherwise, and I suspect Livvy was having none of that.”

Dru’s eyes were gleaming with unshed tears. “I believe she’ll be there for you too Dru, in your time of need,” Julian said in a lighter voice. “Don’t get too crazy with that thought in the back of your mind though, okay?”

“Yeah, but you’ve already won all the hard battles. You left the Clave in shambles, defeated both the Seelie Queen and the Unseelie King, ended the Cold Peace, built an Alliance—you even contained the magic of the Black Volume. It doesn’t seem like there is much left to do,” Dru complained.

“Not true,” Julian said. “The Unseelie King is still out there. Adaon’s hold over the Unseelie Court is tenuous at best, and even though we’ve contained the magic of the Black Volume, that damage has been done. We have no idea how many of Asmodeus army made it through. We fight wars against demons and try to stay evil from encroaching on this world, but Dru, that is a constant battle. The wards are still very weak, and we don’t know what other portals have been left open. It will never be over—you will have your chance.”

“And without our enhanced ability with the runes, there will be no more seraph blades or steles being made anytime soon. What we have may be all we’ll have for a very long time,” he said, worry edging into his voice.

It didn’t matter if they were new Alliance Shadowhunters or Clave Shadowhunters—everyone was still coming to terms with _that_ stark reality.

“Cheer up, Dru,” Julian said working to gain a bit of cheer. “You’re only 13, you still have plenty of time. All I’ve done is the best I can. I’m worried you see me as someone who can fix everything. That’s not true. Everything is changing here and you are going to have a really important role to play.”

And it was true. It was Jace’s suggestion that they could build a secondary Shadowhunter Academy in this new haven. Magnus had even talked of opening an adjacent warlock school to give younger untrained warlocks a place to learn their craft. Julian wasn’t stupid, he knew he was one of those included in the sweeping generalization. It had spiraled from there, where now the Alliance was planning separate houses at the Academy to include Werewolf, vampire and fae as well. Downworlder and Shadowhunters would learn and train together.

He didn’t necessarily want his new home to be inundated with so many, but Simon had clapped him on the shoulder, and said, “It’s the right thing to do.” He was stuck with their plans after that.

So by the end of the month the first of the students would be arriving, most between Dru, Ty and Kit’s age. Ty had closed in on himself, and the thought of strangers rattled him even more, but Julian thought it might be good to start exposing him to more things. It has brutally hard for him to do anything without Livvy, but Kit had stepped up as a good friend. Julian hoped with time, Tiberius would learn that he could go on living without Livvy, one baby step at a time. And Dru might make some new friends.

Julian wasn’t willing to live at the Institute with the constant hovering chaos, though.

He’d had given himself a small break in the painting to go on one of Tavvy explorations with him. Laelaps had led them to an exquisite piece of pristine land. It was on a grassy plateau overlooking the ocean, with one side bordered by wild prairie, and another by dense forest. It was the perfect place for them to build their home, and Tavvy was excited at the idea of helping Julian build it. He had years to go before being ready for the Academy, so Julian and Emma were keeping Tavvy with them. They were even close enough to the Institute that Tiberius and Dru could be given the choice to either live with them and commute every day, or live with the other students at the dorms.

It was hard letting go of them enough to let them make those choices for themselves. But, Dru being one of the first students of this new type of Academy class was going to be integral to its success. He just knew it.  

“I wish I had a creative talent like you and Tavvy do with art, or Ty with the violin. He’s gotten really good at it,” she said longingly.

“I know, Dru,” Julian said, his heart still aching for his brother. “Without Livvy here, I’m glad he has something to turn to. But don’t think you’re not creative baby girl, it’s just that you might not have found what your talent is yet.”

She bit her lip nervously. “I’ve been thinking about maybe writing. You know I love to read and Tessa gave me that book by Lucie. So much happened to our family back then, and the only reason any of us know her story now is because she wrote it down. So much has happened to our family—I was thinking about recording some it down too. I want someone to know the truth. I want them to know our side of things before the Clave has a chance to twist everything around.”

“Creative _and_ ambitious. And I think that’s a great idea,” Julian encouraged.

“Does that mean that you’ll finally tell me the truth about what happened when you were in Faerie? That’s not to say what you’ve told me hasn’t been true, it’s just that I know a lot has been left out.”

The idea of telling Dru the whole truth made Julian break out in a cold sweat. There were some things that she was right in needing to know sooner rather than later, but others that he hoped would stay buried forever.

By the time, he and Emma had reached the Unseelie court, most of the Unseelie King’s forces had been sent into Idris. There was a brutal frontal attack against Alicante, in yet another war the Nephilim could ill afford.  The casualties there hadn’t been as severe as the Dark War, but everyone knew the Clave was fractured—possibly irrevocably.

The Fae child Julian had rescued now hated him and had sworn vengeance on the entire Blackthorn family, because Julian had murdered his mother, the Seelie Queen. There had been no choice—Mark’s life had hung in the balance.

By the Angel, a child of Sebastian and the Queen Red Bitch—Heaven help him. Clary and Jocelyn Fairchild continued to make overtures to him, but in an arrogance that was too eerily reminiscent to Sebastian (in Julian’s humble opinion), he’d sworn off his Nephilim heritage. Although entitled to the Seelie Throne, he was far too young to rule and had regents making decisions in his stead. Clary had told Emma: “My mother’s had enough. She and Luke are packing up, and she’s taking over as the Alliance Shadowhunter Ambassador to the Seelie Court. He’ll have to see her every day!”

Julian actually felt a bit sorry for the kid after hearing that, but couldn’t argue the kid needed a swift kick in the pants. He was the most spoiled and undisciplined boy Julian had ever met. Jocelyn was a bit scary in her fierceness. Clary was cute and looked harmless, but Clary got her steel from her mother. Ash had no idea what he was up against, and in a way, it made Julian glad that he hadn’t had adults around during his teenage years. He could practically feel himself involuntary rebelling against Jocelyn’s determination.

And he hoped given enough time Ash might come to realize his mother’s imperfections: the cruelty she extended to her people, the bad decisions that left her people in ruins. And that maybe there was some way to find a truce between Ash and the Blackthorns. He didn’t relish the idea of a family feud between the Blackthorns and the Seelie Courts. But he also understood honor and loyalty—truth be told he didn’t know if he’d ever be able to forgive someone who murdered his family. Annabel was dead. Again. And it would never be enough to balance the scales.

Dru needed to be warned, but it was still a secret from the Clave and most of Downworld. There was still too much bad blood—a public announcement of a living child between the Seelie Queen and Sebastian would only spark more unrest and fear. So, Jocelyn was only that more determined to not only be a good influence, but to protect her grandchild. Because that secret would not hold forever.

The best thing about all this political realignment was that Julian wasn’t needed to manipulate everyone’s lives—things were falling into their own natural order. That gave him badly needed time with Emma and his family. And to fight demons. He’d been feeling restless to go with Emma and kill something.

Then there were some truths so terrifying it made his soul flinch in panic. There was no way the Clave could handle it—maybe not for another century or so.

The Unseelie King had used the Black Volume to unroot the magic of the _parabatai_ bonds. That was the official story, and also true. What was scrupulously hidden was that it had been a rogue Silent Brother and Iron Sister who had broken ranks with their orders and gone to the Unseelie Courts to aid the King.

He and Emma hadn’t been the only ones who had been tempted to break the _parabatai_ bonds. And the magic ripped away at the worst time—in the Battle at Idris _parabatai_ fell stunned and sometimes dead mid-battle. And it had been as bad for them in Faerie. Magnus hadn’t come alone, he’d brought Alec—and like dominoes falling, all the New York gang came too. Isabelle was left in a hellacious situation being sorely outnumbered as Jace and Alec, Simon and Clary had fallen and nearly died around her. The Wild Fae had been true to their word, and given her aid—or they all would have been slaughtered by the Unseelie army contingent left behind to guard to the Unseelie Court.

Jem and Tessa had visited them to explain what they’d uncovered in the chaos of the days after the break.

“It was a good idea to bind a warlock to the magic of a _parabatai_ for a cure, but there were things I did not even know, that they only saw fit to inform me of after you and Emma had left. And there were things that I had not thought to question before because they were ingrained so tightly with what I’d been raised to believe,” Jem said. Tessa was by his side, taking his hand in loving support.

“Things were far worse than we realized with the Silent Brothers,” Jem admitted. There were more silver strands in his black hair, a deep frown of grief and regret making him seem almost a warlock—with eyes that had lived too long and seen too much of the world. “Even while I was one for over a century, I never held the same power because I was not a _parabatai_ —therefor other secrets were held from me as well. I swear to you, I had no knowledge of how dire their situation truly was.”

“What do you mean?” Emma asked intrigued. She was involuntarily rubbing her own scarred rune on her arm. She was angry. Even while she didn’t want to be Julian’s _parabatai_ anymore the fact they couldn’t feel each other anymore was like freefalling. He kept reaching out a metaphorical hand expecting her to catch it—and instead, there was nothing. He’d been desperate to keep her in his line of sight, just to know she was still alive.

“The Silent Brothers and Iron Sisters were created as a means of helping those affected, but the runes severing many of the connections with their humanity were not enough to halt the curse entirely. Like the exile rune they could slow it, not stop it.”

Emma’s mouth dropped in a little o. “What?”

“The physical deformities of the Silent Brothers were a symptom as to how badly the curse was advancing. It allowed the others to know when further intervention was needed before they deteriorated to a point they became dangerous and violent.”

“What kind of intervention,” Emma said with some disgust. “And if they knew this, they why did they keep performing the ceremony? Why not just stop it? What else were they planning on doing to me and Julian?” Emma said impatiently, still rubbing her arm. Julian reached out to take her hand. She looked grateful, but still jumpy like a mundane drug addict going through withdrawal. He was used to hiding things, so he knew it didn’t show as much on him, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t felt the same.

Head bent, hands rigid on his thighs he answered with more than a little consternation. “Silent Brothers don’t die. I was led to believe when they aged too far they began to fade, and it is then they are walled in—buried alive.”

Emma had enough. “Are you kidding me?” she almost shouted. “They wanted to do that to Julian! And you would have helped them?” Her anger was glorious in her need to protect him.

“The prisons in the Silent City—they can contain anything dead or alive. They hold the world’s greatest nightmares from breaking free. Is that why they were built? Why not just kill them?” Julian asked trying to think through things as a puzzle, rather thinking on his near escape of his own fate of being entombed alive for eternity.

“They couldn’t figure out how,” Jem had said.

“And what happened after Valentine’s raid?” Julian asked quietly, imagining an incomprehensible scenario playing out in his head.

“Part of the duty of a Silent Brother is to guard the catacombs, replace the runes that keep them imprisoned. There weren’t enough Silent Brothers left—eventually the wards on the tombs would have worn away, and they would have been freed. _That_ is why they approached the Unseelie King. As awful as it is that all the bonds are broken, it freed them too. I frankly can’t imagine the consequences of them being freed into this world.”

“And what happened to the Silent Brothers and Iron Sisters then?” Emma asked. “Did it work? Are they free? Is that how you know all this?”

Jem looked down at his polished loafers not immediately saying anything. His grief was a palpable thing.

“How many survived Jem? Are there even any left?” Emma asked, finally understanding. Every _parabatai_ that had experienced the severing had their own battle of survival. It was such a shock to the system, far worse than an amputation of a limb—it was an amputation to a soul. 

It was then Julian learned that Tessa had been one of the warlocks that offered the Alliance rune to be given to her. Brother Enoch had been a close family friend over the decades. They’d even managed to restore growth to three of the blighted areas before the King’s magic had caught up with them. Tessa had managed to ease him and his Iron Sister into a kind of soft landing—enough that the shock hadn’t killed them.

In an odder twist of fate Julian had learned Brother Enoch’s true name: Silas Pangborn. Silas and his Eloisa were getting a second chance. The anecdotal story had only been partially true. While it was true that they loved each other, instead of dying they’d been relinquished into the custody of the orders. No one could know they continued to live, so according to the Clave they didn’t.

There was one other set of _parabatai_ that had found a warlock. To Jem’s knowledge they’d been the only survivors. There were still the individual Brothers and Sisters who had felt the calling and joined the ranks—but they no longer carried any more significant power than an average Shadowhunter. Lost with them were their ability to craft steles and seraph blades.

Shadowhunters everywhere were significantly weaker than before. There was even speculation among the angrier Downworlders that the Shadowhunters might even eventually die out.

“What about the City of Bones, and the Citadel?” Emma asked. Her earlier anger was gone, lost to the sadness of it all. 

“The structures remain,” Jem confirmed, “But the magic of those places has been hollowed out. It is as dead as a blighted area.”

“But what are we supposed to do without steles and seraph blades?” Emma asked. Every Shadowhunter in the coming weeks had the exact same question.

“We’re still united through the Alliance, the Nephilim don’t have to bear the brunt of policing demons alone. Kit would like to experiment to see if any of the newly developed mundane weapons could be incorporated into our arsenals. And—“ he stopped at a new thought.

Emma smacked him on the arm. “I _know_ that look,” she said in exasperation. “You have an idea.”

Jem and Tessa looked warily at Julian. “We have Tessa,” Julian said finally.

Tessa cleared her throat. “And what is it you think _I_ can do?”

“I don’t think _you_ can do anything,” Julian explained. “But I think I know someone who can.”

Tessa appraised Julian, her back stiffening. “I have the wisdom now to ask who you would like me to turn into before I agree, Julian,” she said in gentle reproachment.

He smiled good naturedly, that boyish grin. “Cortana is an amazing weapon. Wayland the Smith was the blacksmith behind some of the most legendary swords in history. Heosphoros, Durendal, Joyeuse, Excalibur, all capable of killing demons. I wonder if you could access him through Cortana—if _he_ could teach us his long-forgotten secrets. Ty’s weapon is Livvy’s old sabre, but Kit and Dru and eventually Tavvy will need a weapon of their own one day. Usually I favor the arts of paints and colors, but for them I would learn the art of blacksmithing if it meant I could make them something of similar quality of Cortana.” He shrugged, “Who knows, maybe he’d even be able to reforge the Mortal Sword. It’s just a thought though.”

Tessa smiled at Julian’s suggestion. “I think that is a wonderful idea, though I figured you more for a politician.”

“That is something I’d like to leave to rest of you, and I do think the Alliance is in good hands. I’ll be there if needed, but I’m looking for a little quieter life than I’ve had the last few months.”

~~~

“Julian,” Dru called his name dragging him out of those thoughts.

“There is a lot that we haven’t said yet,” Julian said acknowledging her shrewdness. “To be honest, I’ve just wanted to forget a lot of what happened. But, you’ve reminded me that history is important—you’ve made an excellent case, because you are right—the Clave will twist the truths they do not like.” The truth about the _parabatai_ was a painful one, but he didn’t want anyone in the future to make the same mistakes as the Silent Brothers and Iron Sisters. Those lessons _needed_ to be learned.

Julian was thoughtful. “You’re still young.”

She snorted. “Look at what you were doing at twelve. Julian I can do this, please let me try. Tessa will help me—if you’re worried I won’t do it right.”

“It’s not that—I just want you to have some more time to be a kid, not to be in such a rush to grow up,” Julian insisted.

Dru gave him a challenging look and he felt himself caving in. “We’ll do it, we’ll work on it together as a family, the way we’ve always done things. You can start my helping me clean up here—Emma and I have a big announcement.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * (was a direct quote from Lord of Shadows by Cassandra Clare)  
> Acknowledgements  
>  I want to thank Cassandra Clare who gave me permission to play in her sandbox. I used as a whole, all of the Shadowhunter books, so I would like to also thank the various authors who have collaborated with her: Joshua Lewis, Maureen Johnson, Sarah Rees Brennan, Robin Wasserman, Cassandra Jean. I also used Shadowhunters Wikia for a lot of reference. It is fan based so I can’t name any one person, but it was an amazing resource.  
>  Rainbow Rowell was a huge influence too—her character Cather in Fangirl made me realize maybe I wasn’t so crazy to get some of my ideas out there.  
>  I also wanted to thank all the readers who clicked on it, took a chance on me and made it all the way through to the end. Some left Kudos, but a special shout out to all those who left comments along the way. There were a few times a wavered, and comments gave me a great boost, and feedback—it helped me add more scenes that I hadn’t planned on originally.  
>  Special thanks to my tumblr parabatai @aida-gon who fielded endless ‘what if’ questions, read through rough drafts to make sure I was on track. She also did Cristina’s Spanish translations.  
>  I also want to thank my husband who watched and never judged me as I disappear (a lot) while I indulged in my obsession in finishing this story—and my daughter Emma who actually introduced me to the fanfic websites and tumblr.  
>  I hope all of you enjoyed this and this story can give some closure until we all find out what happens next!


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